Doctor Scully: The Complete Adventures
(Updated Version: 19 January, 1999)


by Adrian D. Ives (AdrianIves@email.msn.com)



--- Contents ---

1: Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars

2: The Ninth Doctor

3: Doctor Scully and the Terror of the Brain Sucking Slime Beasts

4: Doctor Scully and The File After "W"

5: Where Dragons go to Dream

6: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent

--- Introduction ---



The adventures of Doctor Scully,  Guardian of the Cosmos, ran for six 
weeks, from Monday 16th March to Sunday 26th April 1998.  
Comprising six separate stories, the saga was posted to the Internet 
News Groups: alt.tv.x-files.creative and alt.drwho.creative.

Some people have described these stories as a Doctor Who/X Files 
Crossover, but that's not strictly accurate; they're more like a 
crossover between The X Files and a *pastiche* of Doctor Who.  
Primarily they were meant to be a humorous diversion, so you won't 
find heavy angst or a lot of Mulder/Scully romance in here.  And I 
guess these stories will not appeal to a lot of people (sorry).

This "Collector's Edition" contains all six stories along with some brief 
notes about how each one came to be written.  I guess that could be 
described as being a little self-indulgent on my part, but I wanted to do 
more than just tag together each story, so I hope you'll find this extra 
background interesting.  (If not, then there's always the Page Down 
key - I won't mind, honest!)  At the same time, I've also taken the 
opportunity to do a bit of tidying up, and to fix the inevitable spelling 
mistakes - the ones that always seem to creep in *after* you've just 
posted the *final* version!

As a bonus I have included the original draft of the last ever episode 
of the last ever story: The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent - 
Episode Fourteen.

All of the adventures have been left in their original "episodic" format, 
which was the way that they were intended to be read.  This means 
that each episode is preceded by a short summary of the previous 
one.  Some people like this, others do not.  

This edition of "The Complete Adventures" has been updated with the 
very latest versions of the stories.  All six adventures have been 
reviewed and updated.  The changes made have been minor; 
primarily limited to a general "tidying-up".


--- Finding your way around this volume ---


To make life easier for you, each story section is prefixed by a header 
that contains the story number (as a word in capitals) within colons.  
So, to go straight to the start of the third adventure, just search for 
:THREE: in your word processor, or text editor, or whatever.  You can 
also jump straight to a specific episode of a story by searching for 
:SmEn: where m is the story number, and n the episode.  Thus, 
searching for :S3E2: takes you right to episode 2 of the third story.

Each story section has three parts:-

1) A header containing the number of episodes, date first posted, 
summary, rating, and my notes.

2) The complete adventure itself.

3) If I made any significant changes to the story, for this edition, then 
these are summarised in a brief section at the end of the story.  After 
that there may also be some additional end notes, which, in some 
cases, may include the original draft notes that I used as a starting 
point.



--- :ONE: ---


Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars

Episodes: 2

Date First Posted: 16th March 1998

Last updated: v04 (3rd September 1998) 

Summary:

Mulder has convinced Scully to let him help her choose a birthday 
present for her mother.  In a strange old curio shop they make an 
amazing discovery.

Rating: G

Notes:

Initially the story was only posted to alt.tv.x-files.creative, and it was a 
response from a Doctor Who fan that prompted me to post it to 
alt.drwho.creative the following day.

So how did it all start?

Like so many of the stories that I write, with the title which, quite 
literally, just popped into my head while I was driving home from work 
one day.

I'm pretty sure that it was inspired by a short summary that I'd recently 
read of the fifth season X Files story: "The Post Modern Prometheus".  
For some reason, that seemed to trigger the idea of Scully playing the 
role of the archetypal scientist who saves the world in a 1950's Sci-Fi 
'B' movie.  And that was what I initially decided to write about, 
although things turned out a little bit different.

As to what transpired between the idea and the realisation ... Well, a 
few hours later I put some music on and started typing.  I had a very 
rough outline scribbled out on a piece of scrap paper, and I had the 
opening dialogue between Mulder and Scully pretty much mapped 
out.

Now, as anyone who has glanced through any of my other stories will 
be aware, I'm a pretty big Doctor Who fan, and the CD that I chose 
was called "The Worlds of Doctor Who", a compilation of music from 
the series, including the main theme and several variations.  (If you 
want to get it, and it's really only one for the fans, then ask for FILMCD 
715 by Silva Screen Records)

And that was that.  The more I listened, the more the story changed.  
In the end, the only things that remained from my original draft, were 
the beginning and the end.  The rest is history.

Here is the very first Doctor Scully adventure ...


--- :S1E1: ---


Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars

Episode One


"You really *don't* have to do this, Mulder," said Scully, pushing 
through the bustling crowds to reach the other side of the narrow 
street.

"No, look, I *want* to," Mulder replied, trying to keep up with her. "I 
said I'd come help you choose a present for your mom."

Dana Scully stopped abruptly, and Mulder collided with her.  (A not 
entirely unpleasant experience, he had to admit).

"Mulder, if this is some kind of ploy -"

He looked hurt. "Scully, how can you say that?"

"Easy,"  she said, turning back towards the little shop where she knew 
that she'd find what she wanted.

"How can you even *think* it?" Mulder continued.

They reached the door.  She stopped again.  This time he managed to 
avoid a collision - but it was hard work.

"Simple," she replied.

He thought about that for a few seconds.

"Scully?"

"What?"

"I like your hair done that way."

Scully sighed with resignation, and pushed open the door to the shop.  
Mulder followed her inside.

It was small, dark, and dusty.  An old place, that seemed much older 
than its modern-day surroundings.  Mulder was reminded of some 
17th century apothecary's workshop.  Or something like that, anyway.  
There were little ornaments and porcelain knick-knacks everywhere, 
apparently stacked totally at random.  He'd never seen anything quite 
so chaotic before.

"Nice place, Scully," he said, dryly, easing himself around a stuffed 
polar bear with a gold chain and medallion around its neck.

"Isn't it just,"  she replied, as she made her way past the deserted 
counter towards a curtained opening that led into the back of the 
shop.  "You know, Mulder, I've been coming here for years. It really is 
an incredible place."

"You don't say."

Through the curtain, they emerged into a much larger room, its high 
walls lined with old books.  An old man, a very old man, hobbled up to 
her, his head bowed down.  "And how are you today, my dear?" he 
asked, in a fragile voice.

Mulder had already crossed the room and reached the other side.  He 
looked right over the man, directly at her, and mouthed the words, 
"Who is this guy?"

She shook her head disparagingly.  "Hello, Jack. I'm fine."

"Good. Good," he said, walking past her and out through the doorway.  
"I'll leave you two to it, then."  He pulled the curtain across behind him.

Mulder was poking around amongst a pile of old, leather-bound, 
volumes.  As he moved them, a fine cloud of dust rose up and 
became caught in the narrow shafts of light that were seeping in 
through a partially obscured window high up on the wall.

"Mulder, I have found the most *incredible* books here," said Scully, 
enthusiastically.

He picked up one of the volumes, and wiped the dirt from its cover.  
"Torchy the Battery Boy," he said, reading the title.  "*Incredible*."

She snatched the book away from him and put it back down on the 
table.  "Mom loves books," she continued, "Especially 'old' books."

"Well, then," Mulder said.  "Looks like we've come to just the place 
alright."

Scully wandered across to an old wooden chair, on which some 
brightly coloured, larger format books, which were resting untidily.  
She picked them up in both hands, allowing Mulder to quickly settle 
down in the chair.

"So, what kind of books do *you* like, Scully?" he asked, leaning the 
chair back on its rear legs and resting the back against the bookshelf 
behind.  "Spy thrillers?  Ghost stories?  Pathology Yearbook? ..."

She shook her head with exasperation.  Was it just her, or was Mulder 
being particularly insufferable today?

"... Romance? ..."

"Mulder."

"Scully?"

"You are *really* getting on my nerves."

"Ah, you're just saying that."  He reached behind him and plucked a 
book at random from the shelf.  "Here, what about this one? ... Well, 
would you look at that."

"What is it?"  She stepped closer to see what he had found.  Swiftly, 
he slipped the book behind his back.

"Nah. Not your type of book."  He shook his head.

"It's for mom that I'm looking," she said, with irritation, reaching 
deliberately behind him to grab the book, leaning towards him to do 
so.

"Why, Agent Scully, I didn't realise you felt this way.  You should have 
said something sooner."

She pulled back, the book now in her right hand, and scowled at him.  
"Mulder, it's quite apparent to me that you've spent another evening in 
with the video recorder.  Shouldn't you go and get some rest?"

Before he could answer, Scully held the book up and read off the title, 
"Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars."  In disbelief, 
she turned the cover and read the flyleaf.  "Another exciting adventure 
in time and space with Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos."

"Sounds cool," said Mulder, his face lit up by a childish grin.

"Mulder. How did you do this?" Scully was smiling too.  If it was a 
practical joke, and she didn't usually find his jokes all that funny, it was 
actually a pretty good one.

"Well, I reached behind me, and ..."

"Mulder."

"... there it was ..."

"Mulder!"

"... right there.  On the shelf."

"Mulder !!!"

"Scully."

"This is very ... unexpected.  Thank you."  She sat down on an old 
wooden crate opposite him, and started turning pages.

"Scully. I don't think you've got it quite right."  Mulder started trying to 
explain that, in fact, he'd had nothing to do with putting the book there.  
That it really had happened exactly the way he'd just told it, but Scully 
wasn't listening to him anymore.

Instead, she giggled like a child, and started reading from the book.  
"Doctor Scully, all wrapped up in a long Edwardian coat and a flowing 
rainbow scarf, stepped outside her Time Ship.  The stony escarpment 
fell away sharply beneath her, while, above, the Martian sun burned 
high in an orange-blue sky."

Mulder leaned forward and peered over the top of the book.  On the 
page that she was reading, there was a colourful painting of a red-
haired woman.  Swathed in a long coat and scarf, she was standing 
on a ledge, along the side of a grey stone slope, outside what looked 
like a passport photograph booth.

"Who did you get to draw this?" she asked, delightedly, turning the 
book so that he could see the picture.

"Scully, I-"  Seen the right way around, the picture was an uncanny 
likeness.

She turned the book back and continued reading.  "She pulled out her 
pocket watch, opened it, tut-tutted, then called back into the Time Ship 
for her errant travelling companion."

Mulder had a really bad feeling about what was coming next.

"Eventually, Billy Mulder stepped outside.  The untidy schoolboy had 
his hands in his pockets, like always, and a long liquorice stick was 
dangling from his mouth."

Mulder groaned.  And the day had started so well.

"Come on," said Doctor Scully.  "No time to lose.  Places to go.  
People to see.  Things to do."

She set off at a brisk pace away from the Time Ship, down towards 
the valley, where a cluster of small stone dwellings were sheltered 
beneath a circle of palm trees.  Mulder straggled along behind her, the 
liquorice stick gradually disappearing into his mouth.

The Martian sun was hot, and the air dry, but Doctor Scully continued 
onwards, ignoring the occasional whining from her young companion.  
In a matter of about twenty minutes or so, they had reached the 
village.

It seemed deserted.  She licked her forefinger and held it up in the air 
in front of her, twisting it around and then pointing it to her left.  "This 
way, I think," she said, turning to the right and marching off quickly.

Mulder followed behind her, still moaning under his breath.

They crossed what seemed to be a small village square, with a 
fountain in the centre.  Doctor Scully paused to dip the fingers of her 
right hand into the cool water.

"Very curious," she said, after a moment's thought.

"I don't see why."  Mulder looked down at his own reflection in the 
clear water.

"Because," she replied, slapping him around the head several times 
with the end of her scarf, "Mars is a totally arid world.  It has no natural 
water."

"What's this then?" Mulder responded, in a 'gotcha' tone of voice.

Before Doctor Scully could answer, she suddenly felt something very 
sharp pressing at her throat.  She turned carefully, until she was face 
to face with a gigantic mouse-like creature.  It jabbed her with the tip 
of the stone spear that it was carrying between its paws.

"Hello," she said, "I'm the Doctor, and this is Mulder, we're -"

"Be silent," said the mouse-like creature, now joined by five other 
extremely large bipedal mouse-like creatures.  "You have violated the 
sanctity of the settlement.  For that you must be punished."

"For that you must both DIE!"



To be continued ...


--- :S1E2: ---


<<<

In the previous episode ...

Scully lets Mulder go along on a trip to choose a birthday present for 
her mother.  They end up in a strange curio shop, where Scully 
frequently goes to find 'the most incredible books'.

Mulder picks a book at random, and it turns out to be a children's 
science-fiction story.  Scully thinks that Mulder has pulled an elaborate 
prank on her, but Mulder knows nothing about the odd book.

Delighted, Scully starts reading about 'Doctor Scully', Guardian of the 
Cosmos, and her schoolboy assistant: Billy Mulder.

It's not long before, on the planet Mars, the Doctor and Mulder are 
confronted by a band of evil mouse-like creatures who threaten to kill 
them for violating the 'sanctity of the settlement' ...

>>>

Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars

Episode Two


Doctor Scully considered what the extremely large mouse-like 
creature had said.  He - it - wasn't being very friendly at all.  Not at all.  
Which was strange, for a mouse.

She started raking through the deep pockets of her long coat.  The 
mouse-like creatures eyed her suspiciously, as she started producing 
objects, the total volume of which seemed to exceed the capacity of 
her pockets by at least a factor of ten.  Firstly a yo-yo, then a garden 
spade, a porcelain bust of Queen Victoria, a video of the X Files ...

Finally, she found what she was looking for.  A crumpled brown paper 
bag which she rustled and held beneath the snout of the lead mouse-
like creature.

"Cheesy Puff?" she enquired, hopefully.

Enraged, the mouse-like creature slapped the bag away with his 
forepaw, sending the contents scattering across the ground.  Mulder 
eyed the cheese balls sadly.

"Well, I only asked," said Doctor Scully. "... No need to get all touchy 
about it."  She turned to Mulder.  "Is there a need to get touchy about 
it?"

Mulder shook his head with utter bewilderment, wondering how many 
more pages this story had left to run.

"Be silent, Doctor," said the mouse-like creature. "Lest your idle prattle 
lead to your premature downfall."

"But I only asked if-"

"SILENCE!"

"Um, Scully."  Mulder tugged at her sleeve.  "I think you're really 
pissing him off.  Big time."

Turning slightly towards him, she asked, sotto voce, "Aren't you 
supposed to be a little schoolboy in this story?"

"I grew up," he mumbled.  He looked down at the loose cheesy puffs 
again, and decided that it was probably going to be a lot less painful 
for him if he just kept his mouth shut.

"You will come with us, Doctor," said the mouse-like creature, turning 
towards the East.  Towards the vast pyramid that rose out of the 
equally vast searing Martian desert.  "To the Citadel of the Mega-
Mice.  There you will witness the great Mega-Mouse War Machine as 
it prepares for a final, and decisive, onslaught against the weak-willed 
Earthlings."

Two of the mice took up positions behind Doctor Scully and her 
assistant, and began prodding them in the back with the tips of their 
stone spears.  Reluctantly, they began marching. And marching.

And marching.

It was a long march.  By the time they reached the Citadel of the 
Mega-Mice, the Martian sun was dropping below the distant mountain 
peaks, and the only light came from the flickering of torches that lined 
the exterior walls of the massive stone structure.

As they passed through the sweeping archway, into the diamond- 
shaped courtyard within, Doctor Scully looked up to the roof of the 
hollow pyramid.  Suspended in a complex metal framework was a 
fantastic silver coloured spaceship, shaped like a torpedo, with four 
stubby fins at the base.

"Behold," said the lead Mega-Mouse.  "Cast your eyes upon the zenith 
of Mega-Mouse civilisation.  Look upon the Doom Star and know that, 
with it, we shall bring about the downfall of the Earth.  And then, we 
shall be the masters. We ... shall ... reign ... SUPREME!"

Doctor Scully yawned.  "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that we've all been up 
since dawn.  Do you think we might have some hot chocolate before 
turning in?"

The Mega-Mouse leant towards her, and stared hard into her face.  
"Have a care, Doctor.  You are closer to your own demise than you 
know."

"Er, Scully," said Mulder.

"The thing is, Monsieur Mega-Mouse," she said, "When you've met 
one raving psychopath, you've met them all."

"Aaaaaaaaargh!!"  The lead Mega-Mouse wailed with rage, waving his 
forepaws around frantically, and spraying saliva from the end of his 
snout, like a garden hose gone out of control.

"In fact," said Doctor Scully, smartly ducking the shower, and reaching 
into her pocket, "I've got just one thing to say to you ..."

The mouse looked down at her hand, as she slowly withdrew a small 
glass vial filled with a clear liquid.  She held it up in front of his snout, 
then dropped it to the ground, quickly crushing it beneath her boot.

"Arcturian Rodent Flu!"

The mouse sniffed the air, and the tip of his nose twitched anxiously 
as he tried to place the sweet smell.  Then he started sneezing.  
Harder and harder.  Choking and coughing.  Gagging.  Spinning 
around in circles with steam coming out of his ears.  Finally he 
exploded, and made an awful mess all over the courtyard.

As Doctor Scully pulled Mulder along behind her, back the way they 
had come, all of the mice were starting to sneeze and cough.  And 
they were looking very unwell indeed.

"Double Strength," she added, as she passed a guard who was just 
reaching for his handkerchief.



* * *



Doctor Scully stood on the rocky escarpment one last time, and 
looked down at the crumbling Citadel of the Mega-Mice.  Inside the 
passport photograph booth (cunningly disguised as a Time Ship), 
Mulder was raiding the sweet jar again.

"Ah, well," she said, swinging her scarf over her shoulder, and 
stepping into the booth.  "Time to be on our way ... Mulder! Put that 
down!"

"With a slow sucking and wheezing sound, the Time Ship faded 
away,"  Scully raised her voice, excitedly, as if she were doing the 
voiceover for a cinema trailer for an upcoming film, "Heading towards 
another fantastic adventure for Doctor Scully, Guardian of the 
Cosmos."

She closed the book and rested it across her knees.

"So, um, do you think your mom's going to like it?" Mulder asked.

"Well, it's probably not quite her kind of thing," Scully admitted, and 
then she gave a contended sigh. "Mulder, I want to thank you for this.  
It's been really ... different."

"Uh, Scully, there's something you should know."  Mulder was 
considering a number of possible courses of action, including a 
straightforward distortion of the truth, a thought that he instantly 
chastised himself for even daring to consider.

"What?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that-"

She drew herself closer to him, reaching out to touch his hand.  
"Yes?"

"Um, well-"

Mulder was convinced that the temperature had just notched up a 
couple of degrees.  She was leaning provocatively towards him, one 
hand holding his, the other on his shoulder, squeezing gently, when 
the old man whipped the curtain back and stumbled into the room.  
Scully diplomatically reached past Mulder, to the shelf behind him, and 
took down another book.

"Did you find what you wanted?" the old man asked, a knowing glint in 
his eye.

Mulder's voice was a little hoarse, when he replied for both of them.  
"Very ... interesting ... selection of books that you have here Mr..."

"- Jack," Scully added, helpfully, resting her arm on Mulder's shoulder.

"I'm so glad that you like them," said the old man.  "So many people 
do you know.  And, as I always say, you can't beat a really good 
read."

"Absolutely," said Mulder, loosening his collar.

"Completely," Scully added, straightening up.

"We'll take this one," said Mulder, pointing to the strange book.

"Very good, sir," said Jack, smiling in a very discrete sort of way.  "A 
very good choice indeed, that particular volume.  I think you'll find that 
it will exceed all of your expectations."



* * *



Outside, the day was drawing to a close, and the shoppers were 
thinning out.  The air was cooler now.  Calmer.

Scully eagerly removed the brown paper wrapping, to take another 
look at the book that had just cost them $9.99.

"Oh," she exclaimed.

"What is it?"

She handed it to him.

"Fly Fishing by J.R.Hartley."  Mulder read from the front cover.  "Uh ... 
He must have given us the wrong book."

Mulder turned back to the shop, but the old man had just hung the 
'Closed' sign in the window.

"Fly Fishing," said Mulder, again, unenthusiastically.  He was starting 
to feel very depressed.  "You know what, Scully, I think you've been 
had."

"Not yet," she said, with a smile.


--- END ---



Changes made for this edition:

Slightly reworked the final scene, where Scully is about to kiss(?) 
Mulder; altered Jack's last line of dialogue; and changed the last 
sentence that Mulder says to Scully, in the penultimate paragraph.

End Notes:

Once it was written, and posted, I felt pretty pleased with this little 
story, and I received a lot of positive feedback - I never thought I'd be 
writing a sequel just one week later!



--- :TWO: ---



The Ninth Doctor

aka: She's back ... and it's about time!

aka: Dana Scully is ... The Ninth Doctor

Episodes: 1

Date First Posted: 23rd March 1998

Last updated: v02 (20th December 1998) 

Summary:

Scully is doing her part for Bureau Volunteer Day, helping out at a 
local school.  But soon she finds herself telling the children a story - 
about a very remarkable woman, who travels around the universe in 
an equally remarkable passport photograph booth.

Rating: G

Notes:

The original summary read simply: "More adventures with Doctor 
Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos."

The inspiration for this story came from some feedback that was 
posted to alt.drwho.creative.  The comment was along the lines of: 
"Thank you for letting Scully be the first female Doctor".

This reminded me that, if Scully really were to play the Doctor, she 
would be the ninth person to do so (and, obviously, the very first 
woman).  She would be "The Ninth Doctor".

With the title decided, the story wasn't actually planned in any way at 
all.  I knew only that I wanted Scully to be telling a story to some 
schoolkids.  And that story, of course, had to be one about "The Ninth 
Doctor".

The company which I work for (which is in the global IT services 
sector) organises annual world-wide volunteer days, where the staff 
help out local community projects and such like.  That was the 
premise which I decided to use to get Scully telling her story.  I didn't 
do any kind of rough draft, I just started typing.

This was the result ...



--- :S2E1: ---


The Ninth Doctor



There were probably any number of ways that she could approach this 
particular assignment, but the procedures manual was quite clear on 
one point:  No attempt should be made to tackle armed or dangerous 
suspects without backup.

So she'd pulled out her cellphone and called Mulder.  Now the two FBI 
agents were completely surrounded by a group of six to eight year old 
children.  Very probably the most dangerous suspects of all.

Mulder looked at Scully.

Scully looked at Mulder.

"Scully.  What are we doing here?"

"Making our contribution to Bureau Volunteer Day," she explained.  
Every year the Bureau organised volunteers from within its ranks to do 
small projects for the local communities.

"You mean *you're* making *your* contribution to Bureau Volunteer 
Day," said Mulder, unconvinced. "I'm just here to give you that vital 
moral support which is so essential in situations such as these."

"So support me."

The children pressed closer.  Mulder crouched down, and sat cross-
legged in the rapidly shrinking clearing at the centre of the classroom.  
He cleared his throat.  "OK, kids," he started.  "Today we're going to 
talk about profiling serial killers.  The first -"

Scully dug him sharply in the ribs with her elbow, cutting his sentence 
mercifully short.

"Ow, Scully!  What was that for?"

She leant closer to him, and whispered, "Mulder, these are children.  
You can't fill their heads with stories about mass murderers."

"Oh, OK."  He sat still, looking around at the anxious faces of the 
children.

"Well?" Scully urged him on.

"What do you mean, *Well*?"  Mulder looked completely 
dumbfounded.

"Well, what are you going to talk to them about?"

"What am *I* going to talk to them about?  Scully, this is your 
assignment."

She thought about that for a moment.  The children waited.  Mulder 
waited.

"... Uh ... Children."  They pricked their ears up, all of them anxious to 
hear what Scully was going to say.  "Well ... um ... one of the first 
principles of modern pathological medicine is -"

"Scully."  Mulder tapped her on the arm.

"- to follow sound and proven procedures that -"

"Scully."

"What *is* it Mulder?"

"I don't think you can start teaching a class of six to eight year-olds the 
art of forensic pathology.  I might be getting my assessment of the 
situation embarrassingly wrong here, but somehow I just can't see it 
being appreciated by their parents as an essential part of their 
curriculum."

Scully stared at him.  "Mulder, they're hardly likely to go back home 
and start dissecting the Doberman."

He shrugged.  "Hey, Scully, it's your call.  But if I were you, I'd be 
putting out a warning to all surgical supply houses in the vicinity to 
keep a tight reign on their stock of scalpels."

"Mulder!"  Her frown was very deep by now, and her eyebrow was 
raised to a point dangerously high on her forehead.

He forced an apologetic grin. "Sorry, Scully.  You go on."

By now the children were becoming restless.

"Tell us a story," one of them said.  Then they all piped up.  "Yes, 
please, Miss Scully, tell us a story."

"A story!"

"Yeah!"

"That's what we want!"

Support for the idea spread through the group of infants like wildfire, 
and it wasn't very long before they were all screaming out their 
demands for Scully to tell them a story.

"Alright,"  said Scully, holding up her hands in a gesture of total 
surrender.  "Alright. Quiet ... So that I can tell you a story."

She looked at Mulder.

He grinned back at her.  "This'll be good."

Scully took a deep breath, before launching into her prose.

"Far out in deep space,"  she began.  "Far, far, out.  Further than 
anyone could see with a telescope - further than anyone would ever 
*want* to see - the Time Ship tumbled through the stars."

A hush slowly descended over the children, as Scully continued 
enthusiastically with her story.  Even Mulder was sitting attentively, 
although he did keep grinning in a particularly irritating way, which 
Scully assumed was deliberately calculated to put her off.

"Inside the Time Ship, which looked on the outside like a passport 
photograph booth, but which was actually a huge machine for 
travelling through space and time, Doctor Scully and her schoolboy 
assistant Billy Mulder were deciding where, in all of the Cosmos, to go 
to next."

"Well, there's the great Mograthian Mule Trees of Megatrax Seven," 
the Doctor considered, pacing excitedly around the console room of 
her Time Ship.  "Or, what about -"

"- Somewhere more exciting than Mars," suggested Billy Mulder, 
chewing furiously on a sticky length of liquorice string.

"There's nothing wrong with Mars," said the Doctor.  She stopped, and 
looked at him with a questioning stare.  "Well.  There's not *much* 
wrong with it, anyway."

Mulder continued chewing on the black confectionery, his tongue 
assuming an awful shade of tres noir.

"I mean, I suppose it's a bit dry,"  the Doctor continued.  She 
wandered across to the scanner control, tapping the fingers of both 
her hands together.  "Well, by dry, I mean completely and utterly 
barren and incapable of supporting life ..."

Mulder coughed, nearly choking on the worm-like piece of 
confectionery that was lodged in his mouth.

"... Apart from the Mega-Mice, that is.  And they're dead now.  Or at 
least they were, the last time we were there.  Which might be in the 
future, of course.  But, anyway, they don't count because they're just a 
bunch of psychopathic rodents hell-bent on universal domination."  
She was rambling.  She knew she was rambling.  It was a character 
flaw.  A result of that last regeneration.  Something hadn't gone quite 
right this last time around.

"Admit it.  We're lost," said Mulder.

The Doctor looked awkwardly at her young schoolboy companion.  
She picked up the tail end of her rainbow coloured scarf from off the 
floor, and slung it over her shoulder.  "Well, not actually lost."

"Lost," Mulder repeated, reaching for the sweet jar again.

"Oh, do put the chocolate brazils down, Mulder, there's a good fellow.  
You know they give you wind."

"Lost," Mulder said again, starting to sound rather repetitive.

"We are *not* lost," the Doctor insisted, getting just a teensy bit 
irritated.  "Well, not very much, anyway."

Billy Mulder looked accusingly at her.

She was about to say something, but a sudden and totally unexpected 
wrenching sensation knocked them both flat on their faces.  The Time 
Ship rocked violently from side to side.  And then the rocking became 
a spinning, and a rolling, and all manner of gyrations that made Billy 
Mulder feel very sick indeed.  Of course, the six helpings of double-
chocolate fudge pudding that he'd consumed for lunch probably didn't 
help very much either.

"What's happening?" he yelled.

The Doctor reached out for the base of the console, and gripped hold 
of it with both of her hands.  "We've been caught in a 
polyectotemporal transtitial time rift!" she shouted, trying to make her 
voice heard above the din of the THX digitally re-mastered sound 
effects.  "Hold ooooooooooon!"

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the vibrations ceased, and the 
Time Ship was still again.  Still and completely silent.

Doctor Scully dragged herself to her feet.  She brushed her red hair 
out of her face and began examining the instruments.  "Oh, no.  This 
can't be happening."

"What is it?" asked Mulder, regarding the smashed sweet jar with 
considerable sadness.

"We've been shunted out of real space into a sub-etheral ectotemporal 
polydioninc emboitment."

"Say what?"

"Oh ..."  She waved both of her hands at him with irritation, as if she 
were shaking the dust from a rug.  "... Not now, Mulder. This could be 
very serious.  Now where did I put ..."  She started rifling through the 
dimensionally transcendental pockets of her Edwardian Long Coat, 
pulling out and discarding all manner of strange and wonderful things.  
"Ah!"

She held up the egg timer in front of her.  "Nope."  She threw it over 
her shoulder.  It just missed Mulder.

"Um ..."  The scale model of MV Titanic was impressive, accurate 
down to the last detail.  She tossed it aside.  "Nice ship," she 
muttered.  "Not much good around icebergs, though ..."

Mulder ducked, as the model liner shattered into a thousand pieces 
against the far wall of the console room.

"Aha! Here we are."

She lay the huge book flat across the central console.


  Time Ship - Model 82517

  User's Manual (Extended Edition)


"Now then ..." Doctor Scully started flicking through the pages of the 
manual.  "... Here we are: Polyectotemporal Transtitial Time Rifts; 
Getting out of, when you are stuck in one."  She studied the page 
intently.

"What does it say?" Mulder asked, peering over the top of the console.

"It says: Avoid getting the Time Ship caught in a Polyectotemporal 
Transtitial Time Rift, because there is no known way of breaking 
loose."

"Scully, don't you think you're going a bit overboard on the plot here?"  
Mulder asked.

"Be quiet," she said.  "This is my story."

Just then, a low whining sound started to build rapidly in volume.  First 
a whining, then a rumbling, then a deafening shriek that echoed 
throughout the cavernous interior of the Model 82517 Time Ship.

The Doctor and Mulder both pressed their hands to their ears in a 
futile attempt to shut out the noise.  Suddenly, the console room was 
filled with light.  Rainbow coloured light, just like the scarf that the 
Doctor wore around her neck.  The light was becoming brighter by the 
second.  Overpowering.  Blinding.  They were soon faced with a 
simple choice.  Cover their ears, or cover their eyes.

Acting quickly, the Doctor unwound her scarf from around her neck 
and wrapped it around Billy Mulder's head, protecting both his ears 
and his eyes, and leaving him stumbling around the console room, 
bumping into everything in sight.

Defiantly, she faced the alien being that was taking shape within her 
Time Ship.

"So.  We meet again, Doctor!"  Finally, Eugene Victor Tooms stood 
face to face with his ancient nemesis.

"Tooms!  How did you do this?"

"Really, Doctor.  It's your story."

"But I saw you sliced to pieces in the Electromastic Transuction 
Escalator on the 66th moon of Exeter.  You can't be here!  I won't 
believe it!"

"Oh, believe it, my dear Doctor."  Tooms took a step closer to her, 
extending his elasticated left arm and snatching up Billy Mulder, 
setting him down on the floor between them.  "You have forgotten one 
very important thing."

The Doctor looked thoughtful for a moment.  "Oh, no.  Not the 
Quintadnium Neuractor?  How could I have been so stupid?"

"Probably because you hadn't read the script of the previous six 
episodes," Mulder muttered, under his breath.

"Shut up!" said the Doctor and Tooms together.  "This is our story!"

"But, in order to use the Quintadnium Neuractor you'd have needed a 
functioning mono-syplastic octo-spanner."  She had trouble getting her 
tongue around the last couple of words, and they came out as 
"octopus" instead.

"Exactly, Doctor."  Tooms whipped a baby squid out of his pocket and 
tossed it onto the console, where it landed with a loud plop.  "And now 
you see the futility of your situation.  Trapped here in your pathetic 
Time Ship.  You - are - at - my - MERCY!!!"

"Not quite, old fellow," said Doctor Scully, confidently.

"Do not play games with me, Doctor.  Do not attempt to distract me 
with your puny prattling.  You forget that I am *Tooms*.  I am power 
incarnate. I am ... the ... superior ... being ... here!!"

"Yes, yes, I know all about that, Tooms," she waved him quiet, and 
pointed to a button on the console of her Time Ship.

"What trickery is this?"  Tooms stepped closer, peering down at the 
button that she'd indicated.

She pressed down hard on the control.  He heard the sudden and 
totally unexpected sound of a motor whirring behind him.  He spun 
around, almost slipping on one of Mulder's half-eaten liquorice sticks, 
but it was far too late.

Like some hideous and ravenous beast, the nozzle of the portable 
vacuum cleaner bore down on him from the roof, and clamped over 
the top of his head with a sickening slurp.  He struggled to break free, 
but the suction was immense.

"Emergency waste extraction system," said the Doctor, leaning 
against the console with one hand.  "And seeing as you have a very 
*elastic* body, Tooms ..."

The suction increased.  First the top of his head, then his nose, his 
mouth, his chin.  Inch by inch, Tooms was sucked inside.

"Nooooooooo!"

"Bye bye," said the Doctor.  "Do drop by again ... When you've got 
yourself back together."

With a slurp and a plop, Tooms vanished altogether.  After a while, the 
Doctor switched off the vacuum cleaner.  "Tiresome fellow," she said, 
as an afterthought.

"Well, that's all very well, Scully," said Mulder, not really sounding like 
a very convincing schoolboy anymore.  "But how are we going to get 
out of this Time Rift?"

"Oh, that old thing."  She smiled, stepped back, picked up the octopus 
by its tentacles and brought it down with a crashing *Thwloppp!* on 
the Time Ship control panel.

Things suddenly started happening, almost as if she'd hit some hidden 
'On' switch.  Lights started flashing, instruments began showing 
readings, and the console room was alive with the reassuring 
humming and buzzing of incredibly complex and totally 
incomprehensible technological marvels at work.  The Time Ship was 
on its way again.

"There you are.  It just needs a little gentle tap every once in a while - 
just to remind the old girl whose boss around here."

"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt about who that is," said Mulder, 
going after the last chocolate brazil that was rolling about the console 
room floor.

"So, Mulder," said Doctor Scully, a grin right across her face.  "How do 
you like your octopus?  Octopus au gratin?  Octopus a l'orange?  Or 
how about a nice ..."

"And the Time Ship tumbled on and on, crossing vast and totally 
unimaginable reaches of space and time.  Taking Doctor Scully, 
Guardian of the Cosmos, and her young assistant Billy Mulder, 
towards their next exciting adventure ..."

The children stared at her.  Mulder stared at her.

"Um, Scully," said Mulder, leaning towards her.  "A piece of advice."

She leant towards him, so that he could whisper in her ear.

"Don't give up your day job."

"Miss Scully," said one of the children, a little girl with pigtails.

"Um, yes?"

"Why did Doctor Scully bash up that poor little octopus who never did 
anybody any harm in the whole wide world?"

Scully looked at Mulder.

Mulder looked at Scully.

And Scully started thinking about what excuse she would be using 
next year, so as not to take part in Bureau Volunteer Day.



--- END ---



Changes made for this edition:

Some minor grammatical changes made in several places, but no big 
changes to the dialogue.

End Notes:

This story sees the first evidence that Doctor Scully has a passing 
knowledge of French, a theme that sort of recurs throughout the series 
(if you look for it).  A friend of mine, who came to work in the UK for 
two years, was the inspiration for this.  And seeing as there is 
absolutely no chance that she will be reading this (because she 
*hates* science fiction) I can relax.  (J'espere!)

Oh, and I don't know where the hell that octopus came from, but I do 
remember having had a lot to drink when I wrote this.



--- :THREE: ---



Doctor Scully and the Terror of the Brain Sucking Slime Beasts


Episodes: 2

Date First Posted: 29th March 1998

Last updated: v02 (10th January 1999) 

Summary:

Scully convinces Mulder to help her clear out the spare room.  When 
he discovers *that* book, Scully starts reading the next adventure of 
"The Ninth Doctor".

Rating: G

Notes:

The summary in the original posting read simply:  "What is there to be 
said?  Another adventure for Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos."

The inspiration for this one came from two directions.

1) When I posted The Ninth Doctor, it was with an introduction that 
said it was "one last outing" for Doctor Scully.  There was one reply to 
this, in particular, which caught my attention:  I was told that even 
Colin Baker (the actor who played the Doctor for the shortest time) 
had been given longer than that!  Quite right.

2) I really did get stuck on the M25, and they *were* digging it up 
(because that's all they ever do), and I got to thinking, what if they 
found something really nasty in all that digging - just like in 
Quatermass and The Pit.

As a side note, this story is a direct follow-on from my non-humorous 
story: "A Postcard from Earth".  At the end of that story, Scully 
suggests to Mulder that they should do something together that 
weekend.

And here's what they got up to ...



--- :S3E1: ---


Doctor Scully and the Terror of the Brain Sucking Slime Beasts


Episode One



Something went Crack!

He heard it quite distinctly.  Crack!

Either it was a piece of the bone china tea service that Scully's mother 
had given to her on her eighteenth birthday, for her to treasure 
always, or else it was his back.

He really hoped that it was his back.

Scully rushed into the room, like she'd just dropped out of nowhere.  
There was a look of grave concern on her face.  "What was that, 
Mulder?"

Mulder's face was hidden behind the huge cardboard box that he was 
balancing precariously between his arms.  She rushed to his side and 
started peering anxiously over the rim of the container, bobbing up 
and down excitedly on her toes.

When Scully was finally satisfied that the contents of the box 
appeared to be intact, she turned her attention to the surrounding 
floor, her eyes rapidly scanning it like a bird of prey.  Only when she 
saw that there were no tell-tale fragments of shattered tea service 
lying there, did she heave a sigh of relief.

And so did Mulder.

"Thank goodness," she said.  "It must have just been your back."

Mulder groaned.  "Scully, where do you want this stuff?"

"Oh, in the lounge."

Mulder started struggling, fighting to keep the box upright and trying 
his very utmost not to empty its contents all over the floor of Dana 
Scully's spare room.  "You know, Scully, when you said 'Do you want 
to do something today?', this wasn't quite what I'd assumed you 
meant."

Somehow he managed to get the box out of the room, across the 
hallway, and into Scully's lounge.  All the while she was hovering 
nearby, which only served to heighten his general level of anxiety.

"I thought maybe a nice drive out of town.  Or a day at Washington 
Sea World ..."  he continued.

"Mulder, Washington doesn't have a Sea World."

"Oh."

"Uh, just there.  Next to the TV."

As Scully carefully directed him to a clear spot, just in front of the 
TV/Video combination, his right foot found the edge of the rug.  Found 
it, and got caught beneath it.  Even as he started to lose his balance, 
he was beginning to wonder how he was going to survive the rest of 
Saturday.

"Mulder, watch out!"

The box slipped from his grip like a thing alive.  For a brief moment he 
saw the whole episode in slow motion, and his life flashed before his 
eyes.

Quite what happened next would become one of the greatest 
unexplained phenomena of all time.  As he looked up from where he 
lay, flat on his back on the floor of Scully's lounge, she stood over him, 
the cardboard box held safely in her hands.  She put the box down, 
exactly where she had intended it to be, and then she helped him to 
his feet.

"Are you alright?"

"Since you ask, no."  He rubbed the back of his head, where quite a 
large bump appeared to be forming.  "I'm pretty sure I've got a 
fractured skull."

Scully went behind him to inspect the damage.  She reached up to 
examine the back of his head.  He winced, as her fingers pressed 
against his scalp.  "It's not fractured," she said, "but you are going to 
have a nasty bump there."

"What do you mean I'm *going* to have a nasty bump?  It already 
feels like there's a tennis ball surgically attached to the back of my 
skull."

"Perhaps you've just got a naturally bumpy head,"  she suggested.  
"Anyway, sit down and stop moaning.  I'll go get some ice."

"Gee thanks, Scully."  What a wonderful Saturday this was turning 
into!  He found his way to the couch.

While she was in the kitchen, he noticed the book that was just lying 
there on the glass coffee table.  He recognised it at once.


Fly Fishing

by J. R. Hartley.


Except that it hadn't been called that when he'd first pulled it off the 
shelf, in the weird curio shop that Scully had taken him to in the 
search for her mother's birthday present.  Either the shop owner had 
pulled a fast one on them, or something extremely strange had 
happened.

Scully came back into the room with a plastic bag containing crushed 
ice.  He still wasn't really used to seeing her casually dressed, and 
she certainly looked different today, in the old pair of jeans with worn-
through knees, and the tatty Simpsons T-Shirt.  Her red hair was tied 
back in a bun behind her head, and there were smudges of dirt on her 
cheeks.  She sat down next to him, and started applying the pack with 
motherly concern.

"You kept it then," said Mulder, holding up the book.  He winced, as 
she touched a particularly sensitive spot.

"It cost $9.99," she said, as if that were reason enough.

"What with all that's happened over the last six weeks, I'd almost 
forgotten all about it."  He took the ice pack from her, and held it in 
place with his left hand.  "Strictly speaking, this book should be an X 
File."

She took the book from him.  "Mulder, some mysteries were never 
meant to be solved."

"Doctor Scully and the ... what was it? ... the Genetically Deformed 
Gerbils from Ganymede-"

"The Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars," she corrected him, "as you know 
very well, Mulder.  Since you engineered the whole thing."

"Scully, I honestly don't-"

She touched his lips to stop him.  "It was a nice afternoon, Mulder.  As 
I said at the time."

Mulder was feeling extremely guilty about the whole affair, because he 
really hadn't had anything to do with it.  The book had just *been* 
there.

With a look of obvious nostalgia, Scully flipped open the cover of the 
book.  Then a look of surprise came over her face.  "Mulder!"

"What is it?"

She showed him the cover page.


Doctor Scully and the Terror of the Brain Sucking Slime Beasts

Another thrilling adventure in time and space, with Doctor Scully, 
Guardian of the Cosmos.


He took the book from her, and looked again at the front cover.  Sure 
enough, it had changed to match the title on the inside page.  "But ... I 
just looked at this-"

"What's the matter, Mulder?"  She took the book back, opening it at 
the first page.  "Haven't you ever seen a case of Transbookrification?"

"Transbookri ...?"  Boy, this knock on the head was affecting him 
worse than he thought.

Scully made herself comfortable next to him.  Closer than he was 
used to.  All thoughts of tidying up the spare room seemed to have 
been dismissed, and she started reading ...

"Just five degrees galactic North of the star Xi Cygni III, the Time Ship 
hung motionless in space.  Well, not quite motionless.  In fact, it did 
move.  Just a little bit.  A very slow movement that was almost 
imperceptible to the unaided human eye.

"Except that there were no human eyes this far out.  Not to see a 
passport photograph booth floating through the vacuum of space, in a 
manner not entirely in keeping with the normal behaviour of the 
majority of passport photograph booths."

"Scully."

"What is it Mulder?  Do you want some more ice?"

"If this is going to be another story featuring Billy Mulder -"

"You mean the Doctor's schoolboy companion who's always got his 
fingers in the sweet jar?"

"Yes, it's just th -"

"You mean the Billy Mulder who walks around with a piece of liquorice 
string dangling out of one corner of his mouth?"

"Yes, that's him."

"The Billy Mulder who always ends up looking extremely stupid 
throughout the whole story?"

"Yes, Scully.  *That* Billy Mulder."

She glanced ahead a couple of pages, then smiled a mischievous grin 
in his direction.  "It is."

"Ohhhhh."  He pressed the melting ice to the back of his head and 
closed his eyes.

Scully cleared her throat, and continued reading from the book.  
"When Doctor Scully returned to the console room, she was 
scratching her head and tapping her forefinger against her brow in 
irritation.  She walked around the octagonal console at least three 
times, before finally coming to a halt in front of the main viewer control 
lever."

Suddenly she twirled around, sending the ends of her rainbow 
coloured scarf sweeping around her like a bolas.  Billy Mulder, her 
young schoolboy companion, ducked his head down low to avoid 
being struck.  He would have succeeded, had he not misjudged and 
bashed his head on the console.

The Doctor started tapping her fingertips together, as if she were 
frantically playing some unseen musical instrument.  "No, no, no.  This 
is just not right at all."

Mulder struggled to his feet, nursing a very large bump on the back of 
his head.

"What is it?" he asked.  "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?"  She threw up her hands in exasperation.  "He asks 
me what's wrong!"

The Doctor turned back to the console and starting flipping switches, 
pressing buttons and pulling levers.  Some lights came on.  Others 
went off.  Some even changed colour.  The Doctor slapped her hand 
to her forehead, then looked down at Billy Mulder.  "You want to know 
what's wrong?"

"Um, well yes."

"*This* is what's wrong."  She pulled a cylindrical object from the Time 
Ship console; a long glass cylinder full of tiny mechanical parts.  It 
seemed to glow like the face and hands of an old analogue 
wristwatch.

"Oh," said Mulder.  Then, after giving it some thought, "What's that?"

"This," she said, holding the object between them, "Is the Nano-
Confluic Delta Wave Varactor Sub Assembly.  Do you realise how 
important this component is to the operation of the Time Ship?  I 
mean, can you even begin to comprehend just how important this is?"

"Er, well, no."  Mulder started fishing in his pocket for another piece of 
liquorice.

"Well.  It's ... very important."

Mulder popped one end of the liquorice string into his mouth, and 
started chewing frantically.  This looked really, really, bad.

She returned the component to its component-sized hole in the 
console.  "It's no use, Mulder.  I've got no option," she said.  "I'll have 
to initiate an emergency materialisation.  There's no telling where we 
might end up.  Why, we could solidify inside the burning heart of a 
supernova ..."

Mulder chewed harder, and more of the black confectionery vanished 
between his teeth.

"... at the event horizon of a black hole, where we'd be instantly 
compressed to sub-microscopic particles by the immense gravitational 
fields ..."

Harder and harder, Mulder chewed at the liquorice, until there were 
just a few centimetres left, all the while his eyes were widening.

"... at the bottom of the boiling lava seas of Volcanicus 9 ... in the 
matter/anti-matter intermix chamber of a Constitution class starship ..."

The last of the liquorice slipped down Mulder's throat, and he gulped 
hard.

"... we might even end up somewhere on the M25 just north of 
Watford!"  The Doctor shivered visibly.  "Ugh.  Horrible."

"Ah, well."  She closed her eyes and reached for the materialisation 
control lever.  "As one of my previous selves would have said - brave 
heart, Mulder."

And then she pulled the Mulder.

"Pulled the Mulder?" Mulder asked.  "Scully, have you been drinking?"

She put down the book on her knees.  "Mulder, who's reading this 
story?"

"Oh, you are," he said, holding up both hands defensively.  "Definitely 
you, Scully."

"... And then she pulled the lever."

The Time Ship shuddered from top to bottom.  At least it would have, 
if the Time Ship had had a top, or even a bottom for that matter.  The 
simple fact was that the Time Ship was dimensionally transcendental.  
Concepts like top, bottom, width, or height didn't really make a whole 
lot of sense.  But, anyway, the Time Ship shuddered - from one point 
in its continuously variable geometry to another.

It shuddered for a very long time.  And it made Billy Mulder's 
headache get an awful lot worse.

"What's happening?" Mulder asked, holding both sides of his head in 
an effort to stop his ears from falling off.

"Do you know, I'm not exactly sure," said the Doctor, examining 
instruments on the console.  "Dimensional instability I think.  Hold 
tight, Mulder ..."

The shuddering became at least twice as bad as it was before, 
perhaps even three times!  Even Doctor Scully looked concerned by 
the behaviour of her Time Ship.  And then it stopped.  The Time Ship 
had landed.

She helped Mulder to his feet.  "Alright?" she asked.

He dusted down his school blazer, and pulled up his socks.

Without waiting for an answer, the Doctor reached for the scanner 
control.  "Then let's see where we are ... Oh!"

"What is it?" Mulder asked, because he couldn't see the screen from 
where he was standing underneath the console.

"I'm afraid it's rather bad news," said the Doctor, gathering up the folds 
of her colourful scarf and slinging them over her shoulder.

"What sort of bad news?"

"The worst."

"Where are we?"

The Doctor knelt down to face her young travelling companion.  
"Mulder, do you remember all of the dreadful places where I said we 
might end up materialising?"

"Yes ..."

"They were all pretty awful weren't they?"  She put her hands on his 
shoulders, steadying him for the shock that was to come.

"Yes ..."

"Well, Billy, I'm afraid we've drawn the short straw this time."  She 
stood up, and stared at the scanner.  "Junction 20 of the M25.  
England.  Earth ... just north of Watford!"

"Doctor."

"Yes, Mulder?"

"I feel sick."



--- --- ---



"I feel sick," said Bert.

"Serves you right for eating that second chilli sausage roll."  His 
workmate had very little sympathy for him.  Well, none at all, in fact.

The two workmen started back towards the trench that they were 
excavating.  Ten metres away, the midday traffic approaching 
Junction 20 had snarled to what was almost a complete halt, and the 
miserable damp weather was not helping the frustrated drivers control 
their tempers one little bit.

Bert put his hard hat back on; the banana yellow one with the 
Highways Agency logo emblazoned across the front.  He liked that 
hat.  It made him feel important.  Like he was contributing something 
special.  Which he was.

Widening the most heavily used urban motorway in Europe was a 
really important thing to be doing.  OK, it wasn't *quite* as important 
as solving the problems of world famine, or putting a man on Mars, or 
finding homes for stray dogs.  But it was important just the same.

Bert liked to feel important.

He felt really important when he picked up his spade and waded into 
the damp trench.  He even felt important when he brought the tool 
down and started slicing through the soft and muddy soil.

But when the black slime slithered up his left leg, and made its way 
rapidly to the base of his cranium, he didn't feel important at all.

Because the slime thing had just sucked every last piece of cerebral 
matter out through a hole in the base of his neck, and now he couldn't 
feel anything at all. In fact, there wasn't any Bert left *to* feel anything.  
Just a lifeless corpse that fell face down into the mud.



To be continued ...


--- :S3E2: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

Scully has talked Mulder into helping her clear out the spare room.  
After tripping and bumping his head, Mulder discovers that Scully has 
kept the strange book that they last encountered in "Doctor Scully and 
the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars".  Scully picks the book up, and it 
changes once again - into another adventure for "The Ninth Doctor".  
She starts reading:-

When the Time Ship malfunctions, the Doctor and Mulder land on 
Earth, at Junction 20 of the M25, just north of Watford, England.

By an amazing coincidence, they have arrived just as a really nasty 
slimy thing has sucked all of the brains out of a poor innocent 
construction worker ...

>>>


Episode Two



The Doctor stepped gingerly outside her Time Ship; the toe of her 
right foot going first, then the rest of her foot; her leg; and finally, all of 
her.

It was damp, and cold, and really quite the most miserable place she 
had ever been.  Certainly in living memory, anyway.

She looked down at her boots.  They were sinking slowly into the 
brown/grey mud.

Mulder jumped out beside her, landing feet first in a huge puddle of 
extremely dirty and muddy water.  The inevitable tidal wave of 
rainwater drenched the bottoms of Doctor Scully's banana yellow 
coloured flared trousers.  She looked at the little boy for a moment.

"Um, sorry," said Mulder, backing cautiously away until his back made 
contact with the side of the Time Ship.

She gathered up one end of her scarf in her hands and started 
wringing the rainwater from it.

Just as she opened her mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly 
have been a significant quantity of invective - most of it not the sort of 
thing that a respectable Time Lady should even be thinking about 
saying, let alone delivering to an eight year old schoolboy - the 
foreman came right up to her, and tapped her on the shoulder.

"'Ere. Can't you read, love?  This is private property.  Who the 
bloomin' 'ell do you think you are then?  Agent bloomin' Scully or 
something?"

The Doctor looked at her companion, muttered something under her 
breath in a language totally incomprehensible to the inhabitants of the 
planet Earth, and then released a long sigh.

She took the foreman's hand and started shaking it vigorously.  "Hello, 
I'm the Doctor, and this is my friend Mulder."

The foreman, who was a big man, with a big fat gut, and the remains 
of some tomato sauce around his mouth, was about to say something, 
but then it clicked.

"Doctor, did you say?  Ah well, come on then."  He turned away, and 
started marching across the muddy waste ground, sloshing mud and 
filth everywhere.

"Never rains but it pours," said the Doctor, as she produced a full-
sized golfing umbrella from her left pocket.  She set off after the man, 
with Mulder following close behind her.

When they reached the trench, it was obvious that all was not well.  
Mainly because there was a dead body lying in it.

"What precisely happened here?" asked the Doctor, as she scrambled 
down into the trench to examine the mud-drenched corpse.

"Er, well he was with me, see," said one of the other men.

"Oh, hello there, I'm the Doctor ... and who might you be?" she asked, 
tendering her hand.  A beaming smile creased her face.

"Fred's the name," he said, wiping his right hand on the back of his 
trousers before taking hers.  "Fred Butler.  I'm the Chief Trench 
Digger."

"Chief Trench Digger First Class," added the foreman, as if that 
information had some particular relevance.  He was standing at the 
edge of the muddy ditch, smoking a cigarette.

"Really," said the Doctor, interestedly.  "Do you know, that's absolutely 
fascinating.  Isn't that fascinating, Mulder?  I've never met a Trench 
Digger before.  At least not in this lifetime.  Or, come to think of it, not 
in any of my lives, but then I'm only on my ninth, and that's not really 
very much for a Time Lady ..."

Mulder pulled a packet of wine gums from his blazer pocket, and 
started poking around inside, looking for a black one.

"Oh, my gawd," muttered the Foreman. "We've got a right one 'ere.  
Why does this always happen just when it's knockin' off time?"

"Er, would you like a wine gum?" Mulder asked him.

The foreman stared at Mulder as if he'd just stepped out of a time 
machine.

The Doctor went down on one knee and began examining the body.  
After a moment, she brushed back the hair at the base of his neck, to 
expose a strange puncture wound; a round hole, about the size of a 5 
Euro Cent piece.

"Curious," she said, peering closer.

"What have you found?" The foreman clambered down into the ditch 
with her.  She pointed at the bizarre wound.

"This man has lost his mind," she announced.

"Well, he was always a bit of a weird one alright, but-"

"No, no, no," she shook her hands at him, and then tapped the sides 
of her own forehead.  "I mean he's *literally* lost his mind.  It's been 
sucked out!"

The foreman's mouth fell open, and the cigarette dropped to the 
ground, where it fizzled out in a puddle of gritty rain water.  "What, 
sucked out through that little hole there?"

The Doctor started looking around the body, extending her search to 
cover an area of about two metres either side of Bert's body.

"Stone me," said the foreman. "'Ere, lads, did you 'ear what the Doctor 
just said?"

When he looked up, he saw that the rest of the work crew were busily 
collecting up their things, and moving away from the edge of the 
trench.  "'Ere, 'old on.  Where do you lot think you're goin' then?"

"Knocking off time, Boss," said one of them, nonchalantly, as he 
tapped the face of his Rolex Oyster perpetual wristwatch.  He 
wandered off, following the rest of his workmates, as they abandoned 
the site.

"Oh, let them go!" said the Doctor, more concerned with a nasty 
suspicion that was taking shape in her mind.  "This is *much* more 
serious."

"Well, what do you think it is then, Doc?"

"I have a nasty suspicion," said the Doctor, as she started looking 
further afield.  "That your Chief Trench Digger First Class has had a 
close encounter with a non-terrestrial organism."

"Well, blimey!"  The Foreman found it hard to believe.  "I mean, he did 
'ave some strange habits, but -"

"This -" said the Doctor, her voice ominous and dark. "- is far more 
serious than a case of bad personal hygiene.  This -"  She leant closer 
to him, sniffing his breath.  He looked somewhat taken aback.  "- could 
mean the end of life on this planet as you know it!"

The foreman searched his pockets for another cigarette, which he 
frantically popped into his mouth and lit.  "Strewth!"


--- --- ---


The foreman and Billy Mulder sat inside the Time Ship, watching the 
Doctor as she beavered away with a pile of electronic apparatus.  She 
was almost completely surrounded by the untidy heaps of wires, 
transistors, valves, solenoids, baked bean cans, lengths of rubber 
hose, and several Cross Tangential Phased MatAntiMat Transduction 
Inducer Arrays.

"Hmmmn,." she said, adjusting a component with her Polymorphic 
Pliers.

The foreman looked at Mulder.  Mulder offered him another wine gum.  
He shook his head.

"Ah -" said the Doctor, holding up a length of rusty bicycle chain.

"Er, Doctor -" said the foreman, wondering when he would be able to 
go home for tea.

She poked her head over the top of the mountain of bits and pieces.  
Her red hair was ruffled and untidy, and she had a smear of oil on her 
left cheek.  "Yes, what is it?"

"Well, only I just wondered, like, how long this was going to take - "

She came around to stand face to face with the man, the bicycle chain 
dangling around her neck, staining her rainbow-coloured scarf with 
more oil.  "You just wondered how long it was going to take, did you?"  
She glared at him.

"Well, it's just that it's Friday, and Doris does sausage and mash on a 
Friday -"

Mulder popped the last black one into his mouth.

"Sausage and mash," sighed the Doctor, her hands clasped behind 
her back.  "So a nice plate of cholesterol-rich reconstituted dead 
animal residue is more important to you than the fate of the entire 
world, is that what you're saying?"

"Well - er - not in so many words, no."

"Good!" said the Doctor, returning to her work.

"- But she does make a really good sausage and mash, my Doris."

A low growl escaped the Doctor's mouth, and she buried herself once 
again in her work.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Mulder asked her.

She looked up again, this time there were a couple of silicon diodes 
between her teeth, so she found it difficult to talk.

"I'm -" she spat out the components. "- *trying* to finish building a high 
frequency dark matter shift transduction engine with a 
Polyectomorphic Transcendental Gravistatic Field Enhancer."

"Oh," said Mulder.  Then, after a moment, he added, "Why?"

She popped her head over the mountain of components.  "Mulder, go 
and look after the sweet jar, there's a good fellow."

Sulking, Mulder went off to find the sweet jar, and then he 
remembered that the Doctor had replaced and replenished it during 
their recent visit to Candyplax 11, the home of the finest confectionery 
makers in all of the known galaxies.  And they made really super 
liquorice sticks.


--- --- ---


Outside the passport photograph booth, the two traffic police were 
scratching their heads.  They'd already walked around it once, and 
now they were about to call it in.

Constable Prewitt pulled the microphone from the front of his jacket.  
He was just about to speak, when a really gorgeous red-haired 
woman, wearing some kind of weird fancy dress, stepped out through 
a door that hadn't been there before.

"Yes, Gentlemen?" she said, smiling.

"Ah.  Well," said Constable Prewitt.  "Is this your passport photograph 
booth then, madam?"

"It is," she said, her hands clasped behind her back.

"I see."  Prewitt took out his small black notepad.  Sergeant 
Ramsbottom came and stood beside him.

"It's just that, well -" Sergeant Ramsbottom was lost for words.  It 
wasn't that Passport Photograph Booths were particularly odd, it was 
just that one didn't tend to find them at the side of the M25, next to a 
muddy ditch with a dead body lying in it.  "- Um, excuse me, miss, but 
don't I know you?"

"Highly unlikely," said the Doctor, pulling out her pocket watch, 
checking the time, then tut-tutting impatiently.

"Yeah, hang on one minute, it'll come to me -"

"I sincerely hope not," said the Doctor, looking beyond the two police 
officers at the seething, writhing, mass of slimy black things that were 
slowly oozing over the lip of the ditch.

"Yeah, I know you.  You're that Gillian Anderson bird, aren't you.  You 
know, out of the ... something ... files.  Tch, Prewitt, what *is* that 
program?"

Prewitt shook his head.  "Don't know, sarge.  I only watch the Open 
University these days."

"Yes, well this is all very interesting -" said the Doctor, producing a 
huge piece of electronic apparatus from her right coat pocket "- I'm the 
Doctor.  This passport photograph booth is my Time Ship, in which I 
travel through the limitless vastness of time and space with my 
schoolboy companion.  And *this*," she indicated the mechanism with 
a slight nod of her head, "Is a high frequency dark matter shift 
transduction engine with a Polyectomorphic Transcendental 
Gravistatic Field Enhancer."

"Oh, really," said Ramsbottom, reaching for his handcuffs, "Well, if 
you'd just like to come along with us, madam.  I suppose it must get a 
bit stressful for you big stars - so why don't we take you down the 
station and get you a nice cup of hot sweet tea."

"Imbecile!" she snapped.  "Do I look like I want a cup of tea?"  She 
started adjusting controls on the apparatus.  A mounting whine began 
to rise in pitch, and all sorts of coloured lights started flashing on and 
off.

"Now, now, miss."  Ramsbottom moved one step closer, his hand 
outstretched.  "There's nothing to be afraid of.  We'll take good care of 
you."

And he meant it too, but, unfortunately for sergeant Ernest 
Ramsbottom, he had reckoned without the brain sucking Slime Beast 
that had begun to crawl up his left trouser leg.

"Constable Prewitt," he said, cautiously, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Sir?"

"I can feel something crawling up my leg."

"Really, sir?"

"Well, don't just stand there, man.  *Do* something!"

"I wouldn't do anything if I were you," said the Doctor.  "The small 
slimy creature that is slowly working its way up your left leg, towards 
the base of your neck, is a Bondarisian Slimoid, a slug-like alien 
organism with a particular fondness for the raw brain matter of 
primitive species."

"Oh my God," said Ramsbottom, slowly.

Prewitt and Ramsbottom both looked down at the ground, to see 
themselves surrounded by the slimy black slugs.

"Keep perfectly still," said the Doctor.  She raised the instrument to her 
shoulder and directed its horn-shaped orifice towards the creatures.

"Definitely," said Ramsbottom and Prewitt together.  "Definitely, we'll 
keep still."

She flipped a switch, and then a powerful jet of grey-white foam came 
streaming from the nozzle, expanding as it hit the damp ground and 
began washing all over the Slimoids.  In seconds, the slugs started 
fizzling and popping and bursting; ejecting copious quantities of a foul-
smelling brown liquid.  After a few seconds the two policemen were 
standing in what looked like a very large cow pat.  And it smelt almost 
as bad.

"There. You can relax now," said the Doctor.  "All done.  That wasn't 
too bad, was it?"

Ramsbottom looked at his constable.  They stood there with their 
mouths open, speechless.  As the Doctor walked past them, she 
paused to push up each of their chins in turn.  Then she crossed to 
the ditch and activated the device again.  Soon, all manner of nasty, 
horrible sounds and smells started coming up from the trench, as the 
last of the Slimoids were despatched with ruthless efficiency.

"Never did like slugs much," said the Doctor, as she walked back to 
her Time Ship.  "Horrible slimy things.  Give me the creeps."


--- --- ---


"Well, goodbye old chap."  She shook the foreman's hand one last 
time, as she ushered him outside the Time Ship.  "It's been a real 
pleasure and - oh look," she showed him her pocket watch, which 
displayed seven hands rotating around a dial engraved with nineteen 
digits, "You'll still get back in time for tea."

"Goodbye, Doc-"

She shut the door and marched back to the console.  Seeing her 
coming, Mulder put the sweet jar back.

"Ah, well," she sighed, contentedly.  "Once again, the entire world is 
saved from total and utter annihilation."

"Um, Doctor."

"What is it Mulder?" she asked, flipping switches and reaching for the 
dematerialisation lever.

"It's just that you never got around to fixing that Nano-Confluic Delta 
Wave thingy-"

"Ah," said the Doctor, patting him on the head, "But that's just where 
you're wrong, young Mulder."

"But -"

"Well, you didn't really think it took me all *that* time just to make a 
little old Shift Transduction Engine did you?"

Mulder looked very confused.

"After all," she said, enigmatically, "I am *The Doctor*."

"Out there.  Out amongst the limitless vastness of time and space.  
Out amongst the endless worlds of the known galaxies," said Scully 
excitedly, placing her hand on Mulder's knee, "The Time Ship rolled 
ever onwards, here and there passing through the halo of a comet, or 
grazing the atmosphere of a moon; taking Doctor Scully, Guardian of 
the Cosmos, towards her next exciting adventure in space and time."

She slapped the book closed.

Mulder looked down at her hand resting on his knee.  "Um, Scully.  
You don't think that this *Doctor* Scully thing is starting to ... affect 
you?"

She grinned.  "Absolutely."



--- END ---



Changes made for this edition:

The scene where Scully thinks Mulder might have damaged some of 
her china tea service has been reworked;  The description of the 
Doctor's trousers was changed from "colourful" to "banana yellow 
coloured" for continuity with the later stories; A few minor tweaks were 
made to the Doctor's dialogue to keep her more in character (her 
description of sausages, for example).


End Notes:

I don't know whether Washington has a Sea World or not.  I've never 
been there, but it seemed a safe bet at the time.  Doubtless someone 
will tell me if I got it wrong.

The Mulder/Scully intro scene is much longer in this story.  There 
wouldn't be an introduction this long until the series finale: The Trial of 
a Time Travelling FBI Agent, where the Doctor doesn't appear until 
the end of Episode Four!

"And then she pulled the Mulder." - This really was a typing mistake to 
start with.

One of the responses to this story pointed out that my Billy Mulder 
character was at odds with the X Files established history, as he could 
be confused with Mulder's father.


--- :FOUR: ---


Doctor Scully and the File After "W"


Episodes: 3

Date First Posted: 4th April 1998

Last updated: v02 (17th January 1999) 

Summary:

Scully is away attending a seminar, and Skinner assigns a disgruntled 
Mulder to assist in a bizarre case where people have been killed whilst 
believing that they have adopted an alternative persona.  But it's not 
long before Mulder is joined by a new partner - one who travels 
around the universe in a passport photograph booth that's bigger on 
the inside than on the outside!

Rating: G

Notes:

By now, this was the fourth Doctor Scully adventure.  I had never 
intended to make it an ongoing saga, but I'd received quite a few 
requests for more.

This one was a little different from the previous three, because it did 
not use the familiar device of Mulder and Scully starting off in a 
situation that resulted in Scully reading or telling a story.  By now, it 
had become clear that there were only so many variations on that 
scenario, and I felt it was important to change the approach if I was 
going to try and write any more.

The primary inspiration for this story came out of the comment 
concerning Billy Mulder.  I had already decided upon what the 
explanation for that would be, and I basically wanted to do a story that 
both delivered that explanation, and allowed the real Mulder to team 
up with the Doctor.

Regarding the location, I had been in Southfield (where the story is 
set) three years previously, so at least it was a place that I knew 
existed.  Unfortunately, it also demonstrated just how little I 
remembered about the place.

The other, more significant, departure from format was the move away 
from straight humour.  This was to be taken to extremes in the story 
after, but this outing is still recognisable as taking place in the X Files 
universe ...


--- :S4E1: ---


Doctor Scully and The File After "W"

Episode One



: Southfield, Michigan
: 11:15 pm



The lumbering steel giant wound its way ponderously around the 
shallow curve, tilting only slightly inboard as it tackled the incline 
where the railway crossed the highway.  Steel wheels clattered on rust 
pitted rails, as the train threaded its way towards the yards.

From his vantage point, up on the scaffolding near the top of the old 
Weatherby warehouse, Ernest Briggs watched the aged Amtrak loco 
as it strained against gravity, to drag the wagons the final two miles to 
their destination.  Its diesel engines growled with protest, reminding 
him of a once mighty wild beast that was determined to end its life the 
way it had lived it.

He *would* have felt some empathy for the worn out old loco.  Should 
have, really.  They were so much alike.  As he entered his fifty second 
year, he had started to become painfully aware of how few there were 
left ahead of him.  How little time there was to really make a 
difference.

A week ago, the depression had made him reach for the drink.  With 
Annie gone, the dark despair had all but overwhelmed him, and it had 
seemed that there was nothing left for him.  Not in this world, at least.  
But that had been before the discovery.  The truly amazing revelation 
that had changed his life in a way that he would hardly have believed 
possible.

He looked at his watch.  It was time.  He threw off the old raincoat that 
had been protecting him from the cool night air.  For a moment the 
moonlight caught and held the silver grey of his one piece catsuit.  He 
looked down at the white and black logo across his chest: A crescent 
bisected by a white lightning bolt.  As the clouds drifted across the 
face of the moon, he stepped forwards, gathering up his cape and 
allowing it to flow behind him in the slight breeze.  He came to the 
edge of the platform and looked down.

It was time.  Time for Dark Briggs to take to the sky once more.  Time 
for Dark Briggs to continue his tireless crusade for justice and equality.  
Time for Dark Briggs to save the world from the forces of evil and the 
onslaught of complete annihilation!

Confidently, proudly, he stepped off the edge, his arms outstretched 
before him ...

... and promptly fell twenty-two stories, to be splattered all over the 
sidewalk below.



--- --- ---



: FBI Headquarters
: Washington D.C.
: The next day



Mulder was not in a very good mood.  He didn't often get irritable, but 
something was nagging at him, and he couldn't quite put his finger on 
it.  Well, actually, he could - he just didn't want to admit it.

Scully was in Quantico, attending a recruitment seminar at Skinner's 
request.  Mixing with some of the fifth floor.  It wasn't as if he'd even 
wanted to go, but it would have been nice to have been given the 
option.

With irritation, he slung the dog-eared September issue of "UFOs In 
and Around the Mid West" across the room, where it landed precisely 
in the waste paper basket.  Which was even more irritating, because 
he'd been aiming for the open drawer at the bottom of the filing 
cabinet.

He drummed his fingers on the desk, glancing around the untidy 
basement office, looking for something else to occupy the hour and a 
half until lunchtime.

The phone rang.

He snatched it up.  "Mulder."

Mulder listened patiently to the voice at the other end; an elderly 
woman enquiring about grooming services in respect of her Jack 
Russel terrier.

"Sorry, Ma'am," said Mulder.  "I think you have the wrong number.  
This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation ... No.  No, Ma'am.  Not 
Fothergill's Beautification Institute for Canine Friends.  Definitely not."

He had to hold the receiver away from his ear to escape being 
deafened by the stream of invective that came down the line at that 
point.  It was at that precise moment that Walter Skinner appeared in 
the doorway.

Mulder opened the top drawer of his desk, dropped the handset inside 
and swiftly closed it.  "Yes, sir?"

"Another government agency out for your hide, agent Mulder?" he 
asked.

Mulder looked hurt, but somehow he wasn't in the mood for a cutting 
rejoinder, so he just shook his head.  "Poodle parlour."

"Ah."  Skinner walked over to his desk and dropped a fax in front of 
Mulder.  "Request for Bureau assistance from the local police in 
Southfield, Michigan."

Mulder studied the fax.  It described an incident involving a 52 year-
old man who had plunged to his death while dressed up as some kind 
of super-hero.

"Looks like just another one of your average nutcases," said Mulder, 
trying to hand the paper back to Skinner.  "It's that time of year, I 
guess."

"Except that it's the fourth such case in two weeks.  One woman 
thought that she could go swimming in a vat of molten lead.  A 
teenage boy apparently believed that he could stop an eighteen 
wheeler by standing in the middle of the interstate and thinking nice 
thoughts ... There's more ... A Detective Watkins is expecting you 
within 24 hours."  Skinner started to leave.



--- --- ---



Watkins had been very happy to see Mulder.  He was extremely 
pleased that he could now, as he put it, 'get this shit case off my sheet 
and handed over to you Federal boys'.  Mulder had found a quiet 
room on the second floor of the station, where he had been able to 
study the paperwork on the three previous incidents.

All three cases, when taken alone, were bizarre, but when their 
relative proximity was taken into account, and the short time between 
the incidents, the whole thing clearly had the feeling of an X File.  In 
each case the 'victim' had appeared to start acting as if they had taken 
on some kind of alternative persona.

Pamela Williams, a 32 year old secretary over at Lakenhurst Steel had 
believed that she had been granted the power of invulnerability and, 
when teased about it by her colleagues, she had set out to prove it.  
By jumping, feet first, into a smelting vat.

Bobbie Quilter had told his parents that he was able to move solid 
objects by thought control.  Whether he had telekinetic abilities or not 
would probably never be known, though.  And even if he had, they 
hadn't been powerful enough to halt a livestock transporter doing 20 
over the state limit.

Elisabeth Trenton Le Feu, at the grand old age of 72, had suddenly 
taken it into her head that she had the power to channel electrical 
energy through her body to heal the sick.  Mulder wondered if she had 
had time to wonder why, when she had taken hold of her crippled dog 
in one hand, and a 5000 volt electricity sub-station main feeder in the 
other, she was instantly burned to a frazzle.

And then there was Ernest Briggs.  He had been recently widowed 
after a tragic car accident had left his wife in a coma for sixteen 
weeks, before they had finally switched off the machines that had 
been keeping her body working.  He, at least, seemed to have some 
reason for having lost the balance of his mind.

Mulder's first priority would have to be to find the connection that the 
local police had been unable to track down.  So he decided to start 
with the first case.



--- --- ---



: Lakenhurst Steel
: Detroit, Michigan



Mulder flashed his ID at the secretary whom, he presumed, had 
replaced Pamela Williams as PA to Mitchell Collier III, Local Plant 
Director.

The secretary shook her head.  "I'm sorry, agent Mulder.  Mr. Collier is 
in a meeting until six pm."

Mulder glanced at his watch.  Not long enough to visit the Quilters, but 
too long to sit around looking at the black and white charcoal sketches 
of nineteenth century steel mills.  "I did call to say I was coming," said 
Mulder.  His tone was more one of weary resignation than of irritation, 
even though he was annoyed at the delay.

"Perhaps I could help," she offered.  She held out her hand.  "Annette 
Hayes."

Mulder shook it politely, noting how she'd offered him her left hand 
even though she was right handed.  She was in her mid thirties, with 
long brown hair and a figure just a little on the plump side.

"Did you know Pamela Williams?"  Mulder sat down on the deep sofa 
to one side of the desk.

"Ah, I thought it might be that."  She hesitated.  "Yes, as a matter of 
fact, I did know her.  Not well.  Just passing chit chat.  You know the 
sort of thing."

"Before the incident, I understand that she was making some pretty 
wild claims."

"Well, it was all, sort of, well - just weird I guess."

"In what way weird?"

She swivelled her chair in his direction and crossed her legs.  "We all 
thought it was just a bit of a joke.  She was like that, always had a 
pretty freaked out sense of humour.  But it got really strange about a 
week before the ..."  Her voice trailed off, and her face went just a little 
pale.

"Please, go on," said Mulder, patiently.

"She came in one morning, after the weekend, and started telling 
everyone how she had discovered that she had this wonderful gift.  
That, all of a sudden, she was indestructible.  Like she was Super 
Woman or something."

Mulder had started taking down some notes.  "Did she explain what it 
was that had led her to this belief?"

"Yes, and that was the craziest part of all."  Annette shook her head in 
disbelief.  She leant closer to Mulder as if they were sharing some 
dreadful secret.  "She said that she'd read it all in a book."



--- --- ---



Ninety minutes later, Mulder hadn't learned anything more from Collier 
than Annette Hayes had already told him.  He started to cross the car 
park towards the emerald green rented Chrysler Neon.

Just as he pulled the key from his pocket, he noticed the pulsating 
blue light reflecting off the windshield, and turned around to identify 
the source, thinking that it might be a patrol car.  Instead, he found 
something that made him begin to wonder if he'd had one too many 
late nights in front of the video.

Standing about ten metres from his car, up against one wall of a 
storage hut, was a passport photograph booth, just like the ones that 
you'd expect to find on the floor of a department store, or on the 
concourse at a railway station.  One place that you would certainly not 
expect to find one, would be in the parking lot of an industrial steel 
plant.  And why was there a flashing blue light on top of it?

Mulder undid the clip on his belt holster, and stepped closer.  He 
studied the instructions for operating the machine, and looked at some 
of the sample photographs; a strange collection really: eight different 
men who, frankly, looked very dodgy:  An old white-haired man, a 
younger one with a dark fringe hanging over his forehead and a flute 
between his lips, a more distinguished silver-haired gentleman, 
another with flowing curly brown hair and a toothy grin, a handsome 
young man with fair hair, a plump-faced one, another whose 
expression resembled that of an owl, and the eighth, who had 
chestnut curls and a high collared frock shirt.

Mulder stepped back and scratched his head.  This had to be a setup, 
because they looked just like the actors who had played D-

"Yes.  Can I help you?"

Mulder could have sworn that his heart missed a beat with the shock.  
He hadn't heard the woman approach.  As he slowly raised his head, 
he saw, first, the cream and brown platform soles, the flared banana 
yellow trousers, a scarlet Edwardian long coat, frilly white shirt, open 
at the neck, rainbow coloured scarf, and then -

"Scully?"

The red-haired woman regarded him suspiciously, raising her right 
eyebrow in surprise.

"I am Doctor Scully, yes," she replied, taking the lapels of her coat 
between the thumb and forefinger of each hand.  "In fact, I am *The 
Doctor* - and who are you?"

Mulder's mouth was hanging open, and it took him a few seconds to 
recover his stride.  "What are you talking about, Scully?  It's me, 
Mulder."

The Doctor paced around him, looking him up and down with curiosity.  
After completing a 360 degree circuit she stopped in front of him 
again, and stared up at the sky.  "Yes ... Well I did know a Mulder 
once - or I will do, depending on how the clock strikes - dreadful little 
chap, always at the sweet jar."

Mulder started laughing.  "You know, Scully. I've got to give you credit 
for this one.  It must have taken quite some work to set up this wild 
goose chase -"

"My dear Mr. Mulder, I really haven't the slightest idea what you're 
blabbering about!"  She leant towards him, and for a few brief fractions 
of a second the scent of her perfume was intoxicating; unworldly 
almost.  "Do you?"

He'd thought he did, but now he wasn't quite so sure.  "I gotta say, 
Scully, the accent is really great, I had no idea th-"

"- So.  Here I am on this planet, once again, and what do I find? ... 
The first person that I bump into appears to be a babbling imbecile."  
She let out a long, weary, sigh, and held out her hand.  "Anyway, how 
do you do?  I'm The Doctor, and I'm here at the request of the High 
Council of Time Lords."

"Right," said Mulder, still trying to keep a straight face.  "And why is 
that?"

She began tapping the fingers of her hands together irritatedly.  
Finally, she let out another long sigh.  "Because ... once again ... the 
entire world is threatened with total and utter annihilation.  And when 
that happens ..."  She started walking towards Mulder's car.  "... Well, 
there's only *one* person who can sort things out."

She waited patiently at the passenger door, a broad grin right across 
her face.  "Well, come along, Mulder.  We haven't got all day you 
know, not when I've got to save civilisation as you know it, *and* still 
get home in time for tea!"



--- --- ---



The black-gloved hand reached out for the control knob; gripped it; 
twisted it hard.  The picture faded.

His face in shadow, he walked away from the control console, hands 
clasped behind his back.

"So, Doctor.  A not altogether displeasing regeneration, and certainly 
an improvement on the last eight! ... It seems that we are fated to 
meet once more."  He chuckled.  A low, sinister, chuckle.  A chuckle 
that rose quickly until it became a maniacal laugh that filled the 
chamber like the banshee wail of a hideous beast from the heart of 
hell.  He spun around, his bearded face contorted into a sadistic grin.  
"And this time you will not escape ME!

"This time, not only will this puny planet be reduced to a heap of 
ashes, but I shall take pleasure in destroying you once and for all.

"For you, Doctor, this adventure will be your epitaph!"


To be continued ...


--- :S4E2: ---


<<<

In the previous episode ...

Scully is attending a seminar in Quantico, and Mulder has been left 
looking after the X Files.

In Southfield, Michigan, the local police are baffled by a series of 
bizarre deaths, all of which have one thing in common: just before the 
deaths the victims had been proclaiming that they had gained 
superhuman powers.

Mulder starts his investigation with the first victim, whom, he learns, 
may have gained the impression of having become indestructible after 
reading a book.

Just outside the site of the first death, Mulder encounters a passport 
photograph booth, and he suddenly comes face to face with Doctor 
Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos.  But is she for real, or is Scully 
playing a very elaborate practical joke on him?

A mysterious bearded gentleman who has been watching everything 
on a remote monitor doesn't seem to think so, because he has vowed 
to make this adventure the Doctor's last!

>>>

Episode Two



: Pamela Williams' Apartment
: Southfield, Michigan



While Mulder waited for an answer at the entryphone, the Doctor 
paced back and forth across the front porch to the apartment building.

"Nobody home," said Mulder.  He'd worked his way through all ten 
buttons, including the one marked 'Caretaker'.  "Either that, or they all 
sleep late around here."

She pushed passed him, waving him aside with her left hand, and 
extracting a pair of silver pliers from her coat pocket with her right.

"Scully.  What are you doing?"

She adjusted some tiny control studs on the tool, and then pointed the 
closed jaws at the lock.  The pliers seemed to emit a high frequency 
tone for about half a second.

Mulder noticed a small Dalmatian rooting around near the trash cans. 
The dog's ears suddenly pricked up, and then he was away, running 
off down the street at breakneck speed.  Moments later, the solenoid 
on the lock clicked, and the Doctor pulled opened the door.

"Et voila."  She took a small bow.

Mulder followed the Doctor through.  "Scully, how did you *do* that?"

"C'etait rien, mon cheri."  She grinned, and then, seeing the confusion 
on his face, added:  "Polymorphic pliers."  She waved the odd looking 
instrument beneath his nose before quickly returning it to her coat 
pocket.  "Every girl should have a pair, don't you think? ... Apartment 
eight was it?"

"Yes, but-"

"Well come along, Mulder.  Come along."  She started off towards the 
stairs at a brisk pace, her scarf trailing behind her.  "Time waits for no 
man.  No woman, come to that ... Or Time Lady, even."  And with that 
she had cleared the first flight, three steps at a time.

Mulder reached the door to apartment eight just after the Doctor had 
applied the polymorphic pliers to the double mortice lock.

"Uh, Scully, we don't have a warrant for this."

"Warrant?"  She made straight for the lounge, picking up a pile of mail 
on the way.  "Why would I need a Warrant?  I'm an 850 year- old Time 
Lady from the planet G-"

"Scully.  You're an FBI Agent, and this is against procedure."

She started sifting through the pile of letters, tossing each one over 
her shoulder as she checked them.  "Rent reminder ... Water and 
Power bill ... Diner's Club final demand ... Renewal subscription to 
'What Steel Mill?' ... Postcard from Saddam Hussein."  She exhaled 
sharply.  "Well, nothing suspicious there then."

Mulder went behind her to collect up the discarded envelope, while 
she started casting her eyes around the room.  "I was joking about 
that last one," she added, fixing her gaze upon the hardback book that 
was lying on the couch right next to an old copy of Time.

She crossed the room and snatched the book up, eagerly flipping 
through the pages.  "Curious."

"What is it?"  Mulder had returned the mail to the table in the hall, and 
now he was looking over her shoulder.

"Something very odd about this book, Mulder," she said, handing it to 
him.

As soon as he took it, he felt that there was something familiar about 
the leather bound volume.  Turning to the first page, his eyebrows 
went up in surprise.


The Incredible Indestructible Amazon Woman
vs The Samurai Super Killers from Sumatra


He turned to the next page of the book, where there was an elegantly 
drawn illustration of an athletic blonde-haired woman who, in three 
frames, changed from a drab business suit into colourful super-hero 
garb.  "Scully, this picture looks exactly like-"

"Pamela Williams, I should imagine," said The Doctor, tapping her 
fingers together as she continued to scan the apartment.  "But there's 
something even more curious than that."

"What, I don't-"  And then he saw what the Doctor had already 
noticed.  Before his eyes, the picture was fading, the colours blending 
first into light greys, then into white.  In just three seconds the page 
had gone completely blank.  He started skimming frantically through 
the book.  All the pages were blank.  "Well, I've heard of copy 
protection on videos, but a book that only one person can read?"

The Doctor snatched the book away from him.  "Biomorphically keyed 
genetic inks," she said.

"Bio - what?  Scully, are you feeling alright?"

She shook her head and gave another one of those patient sighs, as if 
she were explaining things to a little schoolboy.  "An ink that retains its 
molecular coherency until it is exposed to DNA to which it has not 
been keyed.  Then the molecular bonds break down and it simply 
fades away."

Mulder eyed her suspiciously.  "Look, Scully.  How long are you going 
to keep this up?"

"Keep what up?"  She dropped the book into her pocket, even though 
it was at least four times as large as the visible capacity of the 
garment.

"This Doctor Scully act.  I mean, it's great.  I'm seeing a whole new 
side to you, and it's ... great.  But - It's confusing the hell out of me!"

"You know, Fox," she said, grinning.  "You really are just like your 
father."

"What ... You knew him?"

She nodded.  "When he was about, oh, so high ..."  She held her palm 
level at just above her waist height.  "He travelled with me for a while."

He stood there with his mouth hanging open.

"Are you quite alright, Fox?"

"Travelled?"

"In the Time Ship,"  she explained.

"The ... Time Ship.  That's the passport photograph booth where I 
bumped into you, right?"

"Is it?  Oh, well could be.  I never can remember when I change the 
plasmic outer shell.  It used to be a Police Box at one time.  Might be 
again, one day.  Can't remember what it looked like when I first met 
Billy.  When was that now?  Nineteen Forty ... something."  She pulled 
out her pocket watch, and flipped it open.  "All these different time 
zones.  Gets so confusing.  Now, should I add a century for crossing 
the Galactic Date Line, or subtract ..."

Mulder was frantically repeating a phrase over and over in his mind.  I 
want to believe.  I want to believe.

I want to.

But this is ridiculous.  This woman is Dana Katherine Scully.  She 
might be wearing fancy dress, a different perfume, and behaving 
totally out of character - but it *was* her.  Doctor Scully, Guardian of 
the Cosmos, was just a fictional character out of a book!

She snapped the watch shut and returned it to her inside pocket.  
"Well, can't stand here reminiscing all day.  There's an entire world to 
be saved.  Coming, Mulder?"  She started marching off towards the 
door.

Mulder shrugged and set off after her.

"And one more thing," she said, as Mulder closed the door behind 
them.  "Please don't call me Scully.  Lord knows 'Professor' was bad 
enough, but this makes me sound like an old dish lady or something.  I 
am *The Doctor*."

"Yes, Doctor," said Mulder, as he followed her down the stairs.  
Skinner was not going to be pleased when he found out about this.

Out of the shadows, stepped a tall man.  Tall and slender, and moving 
like a cat.  He was dressed entirely in black.  He walked over to the 
top of the stairs and waited for the click of the door that signalled they 
had left.

"Predictable as ever, my dear Doctor."  He groomed his beard with his 
gloved right hand and grinned.  The grin quickly became a sinister 
laugh.  "With every step you take, your destruction moves closer."



--- --- ---



: The Quilter Residence
: 20 minutes later



"You'd better stay here, Sc- Doctor," said Mulder, glancing again at 
her colourful costume.

"Piffle," she said, marching alongside him as they approached the 
front porch of the house.

They got to the door at about the same time.  Mulder reached for the 
doorbell, but Scully was there before him, taking hold of the big brass 
door knocker and rapping it several times, extremely hard.

After a few seconds, the door was answered by a petite woman in her 
early forties.  She had an apron around her waist, and a pair of oven 
gloves in her hand.

Mulder had his ID out.  "Sorry to trouble you Mrs. Quilter.  Fed-"

"Hello," said the Doctor, pushing in through the door.  "I'm the Doctor, 
and this is Mulder.  May we come in?"

"Uh, well-"  The woman was taken aback.

The Doctor sniffed the air excitedly.  "Are those chocolate chip 
cookies I can smell?"

"Well -"

"With those extra large chunks of chocolate,"  the Doctor continued.  
"And the chewy dough."

"Uh -"

The Doctor was already in the living room, and the woman was 
anxiously following her.  Somehow Mulder managed to get his badge 
in front of her.  "Federal agent," he said.  "I know this is probably a 
bad time, Mrs. Quilter, but I'd like to ask you some questions about 
Robert."

Meanwhile, The Doctor had made it to the kitchen and she was staring 
in through the glass front of the stove.  Seeing what was there, she 
closed her eyes and sighed dreamily.  "White chocolate!"

"Scully, you don't eat chocolate," said Mulder, out of the corner of his 
mouth.  Mrs. Quilter stared at both of them like they were from another 
planet.  Mulder was beginning to think that the last part was at least 
half true.

"Nonsense," said The Doctor.  "Chocolate never did anyone any 
harm.  I mean look at your father."

"My father?"

"Used to stuff himself silly," she explained, and then something 
seemed to click, as if a switch had been thrown inside her head.  "Mrs. 
Quilter, did your son like to read by any chance?"

"Well, yes. H ... He had a room full of books ... upstairs."

"Really?"  She raised her right eyebrow, and rustled the lapels of her 
jacket.  "A *room* full of them?"  She turned to Mulder.

Mulder cleared his throat, and hoped that the hot flush he was feeling 
hadn't manifested itself as a full-blown blush.  There was something 
about Scully's extremely eccentric behaviour that was having a very 
odd effect on him.  "Do you think we could take a look?"

Reluctantly, the woman agreed.  Just as they left the kitchen, the 
Doctor glanced back at the stove.  "About five minutes do you think?" 
she asked the woman.

"What? Oh ... probably."  The woman looked shell-shocked.

Mulder felt shell-shocked.

And Skinner would see them both shelled if any of this got out.

Bobbie Quilter's room was exactly what Mulder would have expected 
to find.  It reminded him just a little of *his* old room.  Even the 'Keep 
Out - That Means You' sign felt as if it were a memory out of his own 
childhood.  Had it really been all those years ago?  And that just 
brought back memories of Samantha, so he fought to bring the 
thought under control.  Dismissed it.  Got back to business.

Scully was working her way along the Dexion shelving that threatened 
to bring down the far wall with the excess weight.  After a few 
seconds, she found what she was looking for.  She extracted the 
leather bound volume and held it up for Mulder to see.

He nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to the woman. "Mrs. 
Quilter, where did your son get that book?"

She seemed puzzled for a moment, looking first at Mulder, then back 
to the Doctor, who waved the book around and smiled.  "Please, Mrs. 
Quilter. It really is terribly important," she said.

"Dave - my husband - bought it for him for his thirteenth.  I think it was 
that second hand Book Mart out on Carrington and Farmfield."

The Doctor reached out and shook the unsuspecting woman's hand.  
"Thank you, madam," she said, "You've been very helpful ... may we 
take this, please?"

"Uh, well, I suppose -"

"I'll give you a receipt," said Mulder, reaching into his pocket for his 
notebook.



--- --- ---



Just as they reached the front door, the Doctor stopped and looked 
back towards the kitchen.  "I don't suppose -"

"Scully."  Mulder took hold of her arm and started to steer her through 
the doorway.

Mrs. Quilter watched them walk slowly down the path, arguing.  'What 
a strange couple,' she thought. 'If that's the sort of people the Federal 
Government are employing these days no wonder the country's in 
such a state.'

As Mulder put the key in the ignition, the Doctor produced a large, 
piping hot, white chocolate cookie from her pocket.  "Want some?" 
she asked, grinning like a cat with the cream.

Mulder started the engine, kicked the Chrysler into Drive and 
accelerated away without answering.

"If it's something I said -" the Doctor started to say.



--- --- ---



The tall dark man laughed, clapping his gloved hands together with 
undisguised glee.  He watched the car until it had turned off, before 
climbing back inside the newspaper stand.

Seconds later the stand started making a loud wheezing sound, and 
then it shimmered out of existence, leaving behind only the echo of his 
laughter.



--- --- ---



: TrebleDay's Book Mart
: 2113 Carrington Boulevard



"Federal agents," said Mulder, holding his ID under the nose of the 
overweight slob who was slouching behind the till.

"Sure, man," said the assistant, "So, like what can I do for you?"  He 
let out a long yawn that exposed two rows of filling-laden teeth and a 
rather sickly looking tongue.

The Doctor reached into her pockets and produced first one book, 
then another.  She slapped them down on the counter in front of him.  
He took one look, and turned his nose up.  "Nah.  Not buying 
hardbacks at the moment."

"Well that's very good news, sir," said the Doctor, almost sounding like 
a real Federal agent.  "Because we're not selling any.  We believe 
these books were purchased here."

"Yeah?"

Mulder was getting very irritated.  He leant over the counter and 
grabbed hold of the man by the neck of his scruffy 'Lost World' T-Shirt 
and pulled him forwards.  "Take a good look at the books please, sir," 
he said, through gritted teeth, "And then tell me when you sold them.  
To whom.  And where you got them from."

The fat man looked shocked.  As soon as Mulder let go of his collar, 
he picked up the books and started examining them.  "But they're 
blank. - Listen, mister, what kind of dumb shit scam is this?"

"It's no ... scam," said the Doctor.  She gently pushed Mulder aside 
and reached out with her right hand, pressing her index finger into the 
centre of the man's forehead.

The man's eyes began to roll, and he started to lose his balance on 
the already over-stressed wooden stool.  "Remember," she said, 
softly, "Remember."

Mulder looked on in amazement.

"Sold four books just like it over the past month," the man said, his 
voice slurred as if he were in a trance.  "The names'll be in the 
register."  He indicated a scruffy notebook lying next to the till.

"And where did you get the books from?"  the Doctor asked, her voice 
still very calm and soothing.

"Don't know the guy's name.  A real weirdo.  Tall guy.  All dressed in 
black-"

Scully stepped back from the counter, her face suddenly concerned.  
"This man, did he have a beard, and a disturbing habit of laughing in a 
particularly sinister and evil manner?  In short, did he scare you 
witless?"

The man's face became a mask of sheer terror, his eyes wide, his 
mouth open, his flesh a pale white.  Suddenly he clutched his hand to 
the centre of his chest and began gasping.  He slumped forwards.

"Quickly," said The Doctor, scrambling around to the other side of the 
counter to help the man.  "Post hypnotic auto-suggestion.  A self- 
induced heart attack ... And that can be a real problem if you've only 
got one!"

"Leave him, Doctor!"

Mulder and the Doctor looked over to the door, where a tall man, 
dressed in a smart black suit, and wearing gloves was standing.  He 
was smiling an evil smile at them.

"The Manipulator," said the Doctor, her voice heavy with an ancient 
loathing.  "I should have realised sooner."

"Scully, who the hell is this guy?"  Mulder reached for his Smith & 
Wesson.

The Manipulator pointed a bulbous object in Mulder's direction, and 
pressed an illuminated stud on the device.  A helical beam of 
blue/green light shot out across the shop and sent Mulder slamming 
backwards into a table piled high with books.

"No!" the Doctor cried out.

"What is it, my dear Doctor?" the Manipulator sneered.  "Showing your 
compassion again?  Really, it will be your undoing."  He turned his 
weapon towards her and moved his finger to the control stud, 
changing a setting.

"And now, Doctor.  Now that you have blundered into my trap like the 
mouse to the cheese.

"Now YOU DIE!"


To be continued ...


--- :S4E3: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

With Scully attending a seminar in Quantico, Mulder has been 
assigned to the strange case of a series of deaths in Southfield, 
Michigan.  Each death has occurred as a result of the victim suddenly 
believing that they were gifted with superhuman powers and setting 
out to prove it.

Mulder is joined by Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos (at least 
that's who she claims to be, Mulder is convinced that Scully is playing 
an elaborate joke on him).  The Doctor has been assigned to Earth, by 
the High Council, to save the planet from destruction at the hands of 
the Manipulator, her arch-enemy.

As the Doctor and Mulder investigate the case, they find that the first 
two victims had become convinced of their special powers after 
reading a book.  A book printed in biomorphically keyed genetic inks 
that responded only to their unique DNA.

They follow the trail to a book mart, where the shop assistant reveals 
that four such volumes were sold, and all of them were apparently 
supplied to the shop by the Manipulator.  Before the Doctor can get 
any more information, the assistant collapses from a heart attack 
brought about by a post-hypnotic suggestion, and then the 
Manipulator turns up ...

>>>

Episode Three



Carefully, the Doctor stepped out from behind the counter, raising her 
hands in surrender.  She moved towards the prone figure of Mulder.  
He was sprawled out across a wooden trellis table; smoke was rising 
from the burns on his shirt.

The Manipulator kept his weapon focused on her all the time.

"Be very careful, Doctor," he warned her.

"You're not going to kill me yet," said the Doctor.  She stepped over a 
pile of dog-eared paperbacks, and knelt down beside the unconscious 
FBI agent.

"Really, Doctor.  And how do you arrive at that conclusion?"

She leaned forward and checked Mulder's pulse.  It was still strong.  
He'd had a nasty shock; about three thousand volts she guessed, but 
he was going to live.  For the moment.

"Because you still haven't told me all about your latest plan for 
universal domination and self-appointed Godhood," she said, 
loosening Mulder's tie and shirt collar.  "And I know you too well, 'old 
friend'.  You *need* to gloat.  You *need* to demonstrate the superior 
intellect of The Manipulator. ... Well, go on!  I'm listening!"

He grinned again.  In fact, he'd never stopped, it was just that his 
expression became fractionally more evil.  The Manipulator stepped 
forward, bending down to come face to face with her.

"You do, indeed, know me too well," he said, carefully pocketing the 
Electrostatic Ion Transduction Cannon.  "Your friend will recover," he 
said, as if it were of absolutely no significance.  And then he laughed 
again.  "As if that will do him any good."

Angrily, she glared at him.  "What is it, Manipulator?  What's your 
fiendish plan this time?"

He reached out and touched her hair, moving his gloved hand to the 
base of her neck.  The Doctor directed her coldest stare straight at 
him.

"I must say, Doctor, this new regeneration is really quite a refreshing 
change.  Perhaps there are - other - aspects of our relationship that 
we might explore."

"Well, I'll give you credit for one thing, 'old friend'."  With a surprisingly 
firm grip, she removed his hand from her neck and held it up in front of 
his face, slowly increasing the pressure.  "You're as consistent as a 
Dalek."

She squeezed harder.  His grin began to fade, slowly being replaced 
by a look of, initially, discomfort, then pain, and then something close 
to agony.  But he kept his teeth gritted tightly together, his stare 
meeting hers with unwavering determination.

"And just as boring," she added, vehemently.

The two Time Lords stared at one another across Mulder's 
unconscious form, their eyes locked together in a conflict that had 
lasted between them for hundreds of years.  And neither was planning 
to back down.

The Manipulator twisted his free hand around to reach into the pocket 
of his suit.  With a single swift movement, he produced the 
Electrostatic Ion Transduction Cannon and raised it up beneath the 
Doctor's chin.

"Release me."  He spoke slowly, each word betraying the internal 
battle that he was fighting to retain control - both of his own pain and 
of the situation.  "Release me, Doctor.  Or you and your friend will 
perish immediately."

For a brief moment it seemed as if The Doctor would call his bluff, 
redoubling her stare, and increasing the crushing pressure on his 
hand to levels at which even a Time Lord would suffer permanent 
injury.  And then she did release him.

"A wise decision, Doctor," he said, after a moment taken to regain his 
composure.

She let out a long breath.  The frustration was evident in the set of her 
shoulders, and in the look of total contempt with which she regarded 
her nemesis.  "Your move," she said, returning her attention to Mulder.

"Yes, my dear Doctor.  It certainly is."



--- --- ---



: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: Somewhere outside of Einsteinian Space/Time



Mulder opened his eyes with a start.  There were strands of red hair in 
his face, tickling his nose, and he smelt a perfume that reminded him 
of vast rolling starfields, and of galaxies boiling away into the cosmic 
night, and of a time when the universe was young again.

"Mulder, it's me," she said, softly.

"Sc - Scully?" he muttered.

"The Doctor," she corrected him.

Wincing, he carefully pushed himself up on one elbow.  The Doctor 
helped him into a sitting position.

"Where are we?"  He rubbed his forehead, squinting against the bright 
light that seemed to be coming from all around them.

"In The Manipulator's Time Ship," she said, now sitting cross- legged 
on the floor in front of him.  "Somewhere in the non-spatial vortex 
outside of the normal universe."

"Oh, good," said Mulder.  "I thought we might have been in some kind 
of trouble."

"Trouble has a nasty habit of following The Manipulator," she said, 
examining the backs of her hands, distractedly.

"Scully.  This really *isn't* a joke is it?"  He tried to stand up, but a 
wave of dizziness sent him crashing to his knees.  The Doctor moved 
quickly to his side.  "Uh ... You really *are* The Doctor, aren't you?"

She smiled.  "It's what I've been saying."

Mulder's right hand went to his belt holster, but he was not surprised 
to find the pistol gone.  "We have to get out of here."

"I concur," she said, still regarding him with concern.  "The 
Manipulator has something planned and, based on his previous form, 
I don't think anyone on the Earth is going to find it a very pleasant 
experience."

"What about your polymorphic pliers?"  Mulder started scanning the 
chamber, looking for an obvious exit.

She shook her head.  "The Manipulator's Time Ship is in a state of 
Temporal Grace.  Anyway, this whole room is part of an extruded 
corridor of non-linear dimensional constructs.  Even if we could open 
the door - assuming that there was one - we couldn't step outside."

Mulder grimaced.  "So you're saying that we should just wait?"

She nodded.

"Just sit here until The Manipulator destroys the planet?"

"Oh, he won't do that just yet," she said, grinning.

"Why?  Isn't his plan complete?"

"Oh, it's complete alright.  It's just that The Manipulator is an 
egotistical megalomaniac who craves almost limitless attention."  She 
started pacing around the chamber, hands clasped behind her back.  
"He is vain and completely without compassion.  But ... he is 
consistent."

At exactly that point, one entire wall of the chamber in which they had 
been imprisoned seemed to fade away, revealing a large control room 
beyond.  The Manipulator stood facing them, his legs apart, and his 
arms folded across his chest.

"My dear Doctor," said the Time Lord with a well practised drawl.  
"How very nice it is to see you once again.  And you too, agent Mulder 
- I trust that you had a good rest."

Mulder launched himself at the man ...

"No, Mulder.  Don't -"

... and crashed straight into an invisible force wall that sent him 
spinning backwards, to land flat on his back.

The Manipulator stared up towards the domed roof of his console 
room and laughed.  And laughed.  And laughed.  Eventually, he 
directed his gaze at the slowly recovering figure of Mulder.

"Such hostility," he said.  "Is that any way to respond to a kind host 
who has offered you sanctuary and safety?"

"What is he talking about?"  Mulder looked across to the Doctor.  She 
shook her head.

"Cast your eyes upon the screen, agent Mulder."  The Manipulator 
waved his hand in the air, like some royal personage addressing an 
eager audience.  A three-dimensional image formed in the air behind 
him; a blue-green planet spinning lazily upon its axis.

"Earth," said Mulder, and then wondered why he'd said such an 
obvious thing.  He looked again at the Doctor, but she was deep in 
thought, studying The Manipulator's every move.

"Already, my personality-warping publications are finding their way 
into the hands of the most powerful men and women on the planet," 
the Manipulator continued, relishing every word of his well-rehearsed 
speech.

"The books," Mulder realised, struggling to his feet.

"Imagine the chaos that will be caused when the Earth's governments 
collapse, when their military leaders are transformed overnight into 
deranged paranoid madmen with their fingers on the nuclear triggers."

"Sounds like business as usual to me," Mulder observed, dryly.

The Manipulator nodded slowly.  "By all means enjoy a joke, agent 
Mulder.  There are not very many left for you, or for the inhabitants of 
your accursed world.

"Soon the chaos will begin.  Death and destruction will rain down upon 
the Earth."  His voice was moving up an octave with each sentence.  
"And when the planet's power blocs have fought their final battle, I, 
alone, shall stand as ruler of all that remains.

"I shall be ... THE MASTER!"

"But that's monstrous!" said the Doctor, finally breaking out of her 
silent contemplation.  "What could you possibly hope to gain by this?  
What purpose is there in ruling a dead world?"

The Manipulator sighed, and stepped forwards, into the chamber.  He 
crossed to where she was standing and regarded her, thoughtfully.  
"Do not attempt to manipulate me, Doctor.  I do the manipulating 
here."

They stared at one another.

"You haven't answered her question," said Mulder, coming up slowly 
behind the evil Time Lord.

Still looking at the Doctor, the Manipulator raised his left hand.  "Stay 
exactly where you are, agent Mulder."

Mulder saw the weapon that had suddenly come into his right hand; 
he was aiming it directly at the Doctor's stomach.

"I would have thought that the reason was obvious, even to the paltry 
intelligence of a member of one of your pathetic species."  He spun 
around.  "Once all human and animal life has been obliterated, and 
the planet has been wiped clean, I shall walk upon it, and rebuild it in 
my image.

"I shall be as a GOD!"

The Doctor cleared her throat.  "Really, old chap.  Don't you think you 
ought to take a little lie down?  You mustn't let the stress get to you -"

"Silence, Doctor," he growled.  "You have but one choice left to you.  
Reign with me, as my Queen ... as my consort throughout all eternity.  
Or face the destruction of the world that you hold so dear.  You have 
ten Earth minutes."

He started to march out of the chamber.

"As your consort, you say," said The Doctor, not quite believing what 
she had heard.

The Manipulator paused at the entrance to the chamber.  "Yes, 
Doctor. I find your new self ... intriguing."

"... throughout all eternity," she continued.

"Yes," he confirmed, impatiently.

"Uh-huh."  She thought about that for a moment.  "I mean, that's an 
awfully long time, don't you think?"

"That *is* the traditional definition of eternity," the Time Lord agreed, 
still with his back to her.

"Hmmn."  She thought for a moment.  "Well, I'm on my ninth life.  Four 
still to go.  But, if memory serves, you've had your last bite at the 
cherry."

He spun around, aiming the weapon at her.  "Have a care, Doctor.  
You go too far with your idle chatterings.  These are not matters for 
the ears of a human."

Mulder frowned, and inched just that little bit closer to the raving 
psychopath.

"No, it's just that -"  She gripped the lapels of her Edwardian long coat 
and took a step forward, bowing her head slightly.  When she looked 
up, a broad grin had crossed her face.  "- I'm going to regenerate 
again, one day ... The last seven times that happened, I turned into a 
man."

The realisation was suddenly there, and the Manipulator arched his 
brows.  "What are you saying?"

"Oh, come on, work it out, old chap," she said, still grinning.  Her 
obvious amusement was making him very angry indeed.  And angry 
people made mistakes.

"Enough of this tiresome drivel, Doctor.  I shall freeze your genetic 
makeup and short circuit your remaining regenerations.  You will 
remain forever in your present form, and I-"

He was close enough.  Mulder made his move, he kicked out with his 
right leg, sending the Electrostatic Ion Transduction Cannon crashing 
to the floor.  The Manipulator rounded on him, raising his gloved 
hands in a karate-like style.

"I warn you, agent Mulder.  I am considered a quintuple Black Belt 
amongst my Time Lord peers."

"Yeah?"  Mulder glanced over at the discarded weapon, The 
Manipulator's eyes followed his.  It was enough.  "Well, I'm no slouch 
either!"  His second kick landed square in the centre of the Time 
Lord's chest, propelling him across the room and slamming him into 
the console with considerable force.

The Doctor grabbed the weapon and tossed it to Mulder, who quickly 
brought it to bear on the slowly recovering alien.

"Federal Agent.  Freeze!" shouted Mulder, holding the weapon 
between both hands.  "Or rather, don't - because I'd just love for you 
to give me an excuse!"

The Manipulator glared back at him, wiping blood from the corner of 
his mouth.  The Doctor stepped out of the chamber, and quickly 
crossed to the console.

"It's over, 'old friend'," she said, flipping switches and adjusting 
controls.  "Is this the Biomorphic Encryption Sequencer?"

He glared at her.  "Work it out for yourself, Doctor.  You'll get no help 
from me."

She pressed a blue button, and as the colour drained slowly from his 
face, she knew that she had guessed right.  "Jolly good.  Well that 
about wraps it up for your nasty little books.  The inks will already be 
decomposing without their stabilisation field, I imagine."

As his plans for world domination slipped away before his very eyes, 
all traces of arrogance were drained from his face, quickly being 
replaced by dejection and abject failure.  Mulder thought for a moment 
that the man was going to cry.

"Now then."  The Doctor smiled.  "What *shall* we do with you?"

As an afterthought, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pink 
handkerchief, which she offered to him.



--- --- ---



"So the deaths were all planned as part of the Manipulator's tests?"  
Mulder walked beside The Doctor as they returned to her Time Ship.

She nodded.  "He had to be sure that the technique would work 
properly.  Always cautious, the Manipulator.  I just hope that there 
aren't any more of those books lying around out there ..."

Mulder thought he knew where one might be.  "Well, I guess at least 
we've seen the last of him now."

"The Manipulator?  Oh, I doubt it.  The Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars 
won't be able to hold on to him for very long - but he'll certainly be 
spending a painful couple of months rebuilding their sewerage system 
for them.  By hand."  She laughed.  "They've been after his hide for 
decades - ever since he destroyed their deep cast Cheese Mines.  I 
expect they hate him even more than they hate me.

"And, without this fluid link," She held up a small glass tube filled with 
mercury, and shook it, "His Time Ship will be out of action for quite 
some time."

They reached the curtain to the passport photograph booth, and she 
stopped to hold out her hand.  "Well, goodbye, Mulder.  Thanks for 
helping me to save civilisation as we know it - again ..."  She cocked 
her head towards the Time Ship.  "*Sure* you won't join me?"

He looked beyond her, at the dazzling lights of the console room 
behind the curtain.  It was tempting.  Too tempting.

"Well, I suppose-"

And then his cellphone rang.  He took it out.  "Yes."

"Mulder, it's me."

The Doctor grinned one last time, briefly shook his hand, then pushed 
through the curtain.  She paused once, to blow him a kiss, and then 
she was gone.

Reluctantly, Mulder took a step backwards, as the wheezing and 
groaning sound began to rise in pitch.  Slowly, the booth shimmered 
out of existence.

Taking Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, towards her next 
exciting adventure in space and time.


--- END ---


Changes made for this edition:

In Episode One the very first exchange between Mulder and the 
Doctor was reworked.

In Episode Two the phrase "ectoplasmic shell" (referring to the shape 
that the Time Ship assumes in Real Space) was corrected to "plasmic 
shell".

In Episode Three the scene where the Doctor shuts down the 
Biomorphic Encryption Sequencer was reworked.

Throughout the story, references to Scully were replaced by the 
Doctor.


End Notes:

A very different kind of Doctor Scully adventure that departed from the 
three previous ones by bringing Doctor Scully into the "real" world, 
and moving away from pure humour.  This story also saw the start of a 
romantic attraction between the Doctor and Mulder.

I received an E-Mail from someone in Southfield, who corrected me on 
my erroneous location of the Steel Mills (actually up river towards 
Detroit).

This is the first rough draft for the story ...

<<<

Doctor Scully, Special Agent (or Doctor Scully, FBI)

Dana is away on a training course, and Mulder is sulking because he 
didn't get nominated as well.

Then a particularly weird X File (about a book that changes content!) 
comes along, and he has to investigate.  Things are getting tricky 
when Scully turns up at FBI HQ, dressed as the Doctor.  In fact, she 
claims to 'be' the Doctor!

Mulder tries to trace the real Scully, but every time he calls there is 
some excuse why she's not available.

Mulder asks her about his schoolboy companion.  "Oh, him. Well I did 
travel around with an irritating little ..., or do, in the future, or the past - 
it's so confusing."

Together they investigate.

Mulder goes to Scully's apartment, looking for 'that' book, but it's not 
there.

- Could be that Dr. Scully reveals she picks Billy up in the 1940s 
(Fox's dad!)

>>>

... Note the trouble that I had with the title of this one, finally settling for 
neither of the alternatives shown above.  This was one of the few 
occasions when the idea for the story came before the title.

In my note book, I also found the following list of names for the 
character that ended up as the Manipulator (shamelessly based upon 
Doctor Who's the Master) ...


Monarch, Thinker, Lord, Overseer, Supremo, Adept, Manipulator.


... The very last one is ringed.  Guess who resorted to the Thesaurus!


--- :FIVE: ---


Where Dragons go to Dream


Episodes: 4

Date First Posted: 9th April 1998

Last updated: v02 (18th January 1999) 

Summary:

This story finds the Doctor on Time's End - a planet where a multi-
trillion Gal-Dollar industrial conglomerate is making people's dreams 
come true - at the expense of the last surviving dragons in the entire 
universe.

Rating: PG

Notes:

The fifth Doctor Scully adventure saw a continuation of the experiment 
that I began in Doctor Scully and the File after "W".  Accepting that 
Doctor Scully was a "real" character, I decided to write a story that just 
featured her, to see how she would fare on her own.

Of all the Doctor Scully adventures this one is the closest to a 
traditional Doctor Who story.  In fact, it doesn't feature any characters 
from the X Files at all, and introduces a new companion (albeit only 
temporarily) for the Doctor.

This story has the distinction that it did not generate one single piece 
of feedback! (I almost stopped writing them at this point).  It was an 
experiment that I decided not repeat, and the series finale returned 
straight back to the X Files universe.

I'm not sure where the inspiration for this story came from.  Again, the 
title came first; though for a while I thought I'd inadvertently used 
somebody else's - although I haven't seen it anywhere (if I'm wrong, 
my apologies, no infringement was intended).  Always at the front of 
my mind, was the concept of an ecological theme, with a huge 
corporation taking advantage of the very special properties of the 
magical dragons for their own profit.

Of all the Doctor Scully adventures, this one ended up being the 
closest to its original draft, and the farthest of all from the X Files ...


--- :S5E1: ---


EPILOGUE


The Universe has just ended.  About three minutes ago.

The Doctor produces her gold pocket watch from inside her coat, flips 
up the lid, and studies the complex timepiece for a few seconds.

If we were to examine the instrument closely, we would see that there 
are seven separate sets of hands revolving around three equidistant 
spindles.  All of them are moving in opposing directions.

There are 19 symbols engraved around the circumference of the 
watch face, and none of them would be recognisable as anything 
even closely resembling numbers.  At least not to the inhabitants of a 
small class M planet.  You know the one:  Orbiting the star Sol, in the 
Western Spiral Arm of the Milky Way galaxy.

Perhaps this should not surprise us, because Doctor Scully, Guardian 
of the Cosmos, isn't from around there.

She is from somewhere altogether much more interesting.

But, anyway, the Universe has just ended.  About three minutes and 
fifty seconds ago.

And the shit has hit the fan!



--- --- ---



Where Dragons go to Dream


Episode One



Perhaps when she had been much younger, years into the future, she 
might have felt differently.

Possibly one of her previous selves might have been more amenable.  
The fourth, maybe; all teeth and curls, and always game for a 
challenge. Or the sixth, so arrogant that he had thought nothing was 
beyond his abilities.

But she was an altogether different kind of Doctor.  The latest model.  
Top of the line, so to speak.  At least she liked to think so.

"Just a little job," the Lord President had said.

"Shouldn't take you too long," the Castellan had added, with one of 
those exceedingly irritating all-knowing looks that he had perfected so 
well.

"And we would be *so* grateful."

"And so you should be," the Doctor said to herself, circling the console 
to arrive back at the dimensional stabiliser controls.  She tapped a few 
buttons, moved some switches, adjusted a dial or two, and then stared 
at the display screen with disbelief, and no small amount of frustration.

She took a step backwards, as if stepping back from the problem 
would shed a new light on things.  Unfortunately it didn't.  Instead, she 
collided with the old mahogany hat stand, and bumped the back of her 
head.  It hurt.

"Stupid thing!"  The Doctor lashed out with her foot, sending the 
startled piece of furniture flying across the room, where it collided with 
one of the roundelled panels, and came to rest next to an old sea 
chest.  It glared back at her, and proceeded to sulk quietly in the 
corner.

"Just a little job ..." she muttered, clenching up her right hand into a 
fist, and looking for a suitable place to thump the control panel.  It was 
as she hovered over the octagonal console, ready to plant a firm slap 
just to the right of the Di-Ectotransic Conducifier Pentode Array, that a 
sobering thought came to mind.

"I'm standing here talking to myself," she said to the Time Ship.  
"Probably the first sign of madness, don't you think? ..."

The Doctor thought about what she'd just said, then she reappraised 
the situation.  "... Well, anyway, more likely the mark of a true genius.  
Isaac used to talk to himself all the time.  What was it that he used to 
say?  An apple a day keeps the -"

The Time Ship didn't answer her.  It could have, though.  Seeing as 
how it was a sentient machine that shared a Space/Time transcending 
empathic link with her.  It just chose not to.

She couldn't really blame the ship.  The Doctor had been through a 
variety of unpredictable mood swings ever since her recent visit to 
Earth.  The confrontation with her ancient enemy, the Manipulator, 
had been unsettling and, for some reason, she felt as if she had left 
behind some unfinished business.

Something else had happened on that trip.  Something that had 
brought home to her how very different this regeneration was proving 
to be.  For the first time, she had started to experience some of the 
feelings that she had secretly envied in the non-Time Lord species.  It 
had been ... enlightening.

As the Time Ship rolled on, she contemplated her previous eight lives, 
and the recurring theme that had run right through them.  This 
apparent need to seek out companionship was curious, especially 
when that companionship so often seemed to originate from the 
planet Earth.  And now, in her ninth incarnation, the need seemed 
stronger than ever.  And somehow different.  It was most curious.

For some reason, she started to think about Fox Mulder again.  The 
FBI agent had helped her to defeat the Manipulator - and probably just 
in the nick of time.  It was, she thought again, a shame that he hadn't 
been able to join her on her travels.

Afterwards she'd spent hours at the Time Ship Databank, reading 
about the strange cases that he and his partner had become involved 
with.  The startling 'X' Files that made her own adventures seem 
almost mundane by comparison.  And, when she came to the end of 
the available data, she had started right back at the beginning again.

Much later, she had found herself wandering around the almost 
limitless maze of corridors within the ship, feeling so small and lonely 
amidst that expanse of emptiness and silence.  As a Time Lord, this 
was a feeling that she had never experienced before.  Or, at least, it 
had never mattered before.  And it had made her certain that this 
lifetime was going to be quite different from the ones that had gone 
before it.

Eventually, the ship did reply to her; by working properly, and 
materialising exactly where she wanted to be.

"Good girl," said the Doctor, gently patting the console.  She could 
have sworn that the ship emitted a soft purring sound in response, like 
a contended kitten.  "Now, let's see what's out there, shall we?"

She operated the scanner control, and stepped back to regard the 
three-dimensional viewing screen, rapidly tapping her fingers together 
with impatience.

Slowly, the image resolved itself into clarity:  Three conical structures, 
towering high above a densely wooded valley, their tips shrouded in 
wispy white cloud.  Huge winged creatures wheeled and dived about 
the shining glass towers.  Even bigger beasts roamed the forests 
below, their reptilian heads slowly bobbing above the treetops as they 
moved.

She adjusted the scanner focus, zooming in on the huge advertising 
hoarding that was set into the side of the hill on which the complex 
was built.


Futures 'R' Us

We make the future what you never dreamt possible


"Hmmn. Just a touch pretentious."  She snapped down the scanner 
control switch, and watched the image dissolve into a thousand grains 
of dislocated light, before it finally faded away to nothing.

"Oh, well, come along then, Doctor," said the Doctor to herself, 
gathering up her rainbow coloured scarf around her neck, "After all, it's 
not often that one gets the chance to visit the place where the end of 
the Universe begins."



--- --- ---



"Stop right there!" said the voice, with a commanding tone that 
seemed to indicate that he (because the owner was very definitely 
male) might actually mean it.

So she stopped.  Right there.  On the side of the steep grassy hillside 
overlooking the forest.  She held up her hands, spreading out her 
fingertips, and stood completely still.

The Doctor heard his footsteps pressing into the soft turf, as he circled 
slowly behind her.  But it was the barrel of the Bloomfield and Wyatt 
.60 calibre assault Proton Cannon that she saw first.  It was hard to 
miss; being pressed up against the end of her nose like that.

The face, and the man that it belonged to, came a few seconds later.  
He was tall.  Taller than her, although that wasn't difficult.  Humanoid.  
Well, humanoid-ish.  He had a mouth, two eyes, a nose, and a pair of 
ears.  Not Terran, though, she decided.  But certainly a species from 
that neck of the woods.  Well, probably.

The man was dressed in a military uniform: a khaki jump-suit with 
more zippered pockets in more different places than she would have 
thought either safe, or desirable, for such a garment.  He had a fairly 
muscular build, and thick dark hair that urgently needed some 
attention.  In fact, he looked as if he could do with a really good long 
hot bath.

In Earth years, he would have been in his late thirties.  In 
Condrominium Twangles, a non-linear unit of time whose exact value 
was dependent upon the molecular composition of the being 
experiencing its passing, he would have been closer to -

But that was totally and utterly irrelevant.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor," she said, jovially, "And this is ... Oh, sorry. 
Keep forgetting.  Just me at the moment.  Sorry."

The man looked at her with suspicion, but nevertheless he slowly 
lowered the massive atomic powered weapon towards the ground, 
until it rested on the tip of its barrel, leaning against his right leg.  He 
steadied it with his gloved hand.

"Flight Lieutenant Burgess."  He made a sharp salute with his left 
hand.  "Formerly of the Andragorian survey vessel *StarSearcher*."

The Doctor took hold of the lapels of her coat in both hands and 
ruffled the velvet material with her thumbs.  "Really?" she said, 
grinning.  "Andragorian, eh?"  She stepped forward, and placed a 
hand on his shoulder, gently turning him in the direction that she had 
been going.  "Is that Andragorias Major or Andragorias Minor?"

"Um, well Minor, actually," said the officer, caught more than a little off 
guard, and now finding himself being propelled swiftly down the hill 
towards the forest.

"Oh, good," she said, hurrying him forwards.  "Never did like that other 
place much.  A bit too ... Major ... if you know what I mean."

"Well, I -"

"Of course, that's not to say it doesn't have its good points."

"No, of course -"

"A lot of planets with Major after their name are really very nice 
places.  Very nice indeed.  I mean, take Brimbasbador Ungothorax 
Major, for example.  *I* never saw a nicer lump of unstable Dark 
Matter ... did you?"

They were approaching the rim of the forest now, and the huge pine 
trees were towering over them, starting to cut off the light from the 
planet's twin pink suns.  It was like walking towards the night.

"So tell me, Burgess," she said, marching on ahead of him, "How did 
you come to be here on Time's End ... and where is your starship?"

"Survey mission," he explained, short of breath after the rapid 
descent, "We were looking for chrononic ore, and this planet is listed 
as uninhabited."

"Yes," she said, tapping her index finger against her lips thoughtfully, 
"It certainly was, the last time I was here.  Things seem to have 
changed, though ... as they so often do."

"Our ship was attacked," Burgess continued.  He had caught up with 
her now.  "Some kind of ground defence installation.  Went straight 
through the shields.  We didn't stand a chance.  So we launched the 
Life Pods ... I've been searching for six days now, and found no-one."

The Doctor listened intently to his story, as if she were recording it in 
her mind for later reference.  "Curious," she finally said.  "Well, no use 
crying over crashed starships.  Time is the enemy ..." She started 
marching forwards again, and then she stopped very suddenly.  "... 
Chrononic ore, did you say?"

"That's right," Burgess said, wearily.

"Hmmn.  Fancy that," she said, and started walking again.  "Well, 
hurry along, man.  Time is the e-"

"-Enemy.  Yes, Doctor.  You said."

Burgess made an irritated growl through his teeth, but reluctantly set 
off after her.  After all, so far she seemed to be his best chance of 
getting off the damned place.  She obviously had some form of 
interplanetary transport, perhaps even interstellar.  And that might 
mean a ticket home.

"Doctor, why are we heading into the forest?"  Burgess managed to 
bring himself to a halt, and that forced the Doctor to come to a stop as 
well.

"Why?" she asked, with incredulity.  "Why?"  She threw up her hands 
in despair.

"Yes, Doctor."  Burgess was standing his ground, and keeping a firm 
grip on the unwieldy assault rifle.

"Well, why do you think?"  She started moving forwards again, 
jamming her hands deep into the pockets of her long coat.  At the very 
edge, where the first of the towering pines rose out of the dark soil, 
she looked back at Burgess and produced one of her very best smiles.  
"To get to the other side, of course."

"Oh," said Burgess.  He had, in fact, expected a rather more 
enlightening explanation.  "Well, with all due respect, Doctor, I don't 
think that would be a very good idea."

She tilted her head to one side, and looked at him quizzically.  "Why 
ever not?"

He raised his right hand and pointed cautiously towards her.  Beyond 
her, in fact, to a position somewhere just over her right shoulder.  
Slowly, she turned around - and came face to face with an extremely 
large and very angry looking reptile.

The huge creature glared down at her through two gigantic deep red 
orbs.

All the better to see its helpless prey with.

Then it forced its long ribbed snout between the trunks of two trees, 
bringing its razor sharp incisors to within a few centimetres of her face.  
The Doctor found herself frozen to the spot, both fascinated by the 
massive reptile, but also completely terrified.  It began to open its 
mouth, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth.

All the better to rip the Doctor to shreds with!


To be continued ...


--- :S5E2: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

The Doctor has been sent to Time's End, by the Lord President, to 
avert disaster on a universal scale.  Once there, she meets up with 
Flight Lieutenant Burgess, apparent sole survivor of the survey vessel 
*StarSearcher* - shot down by a ground defence installation while on 
a mission to locate chrononic ore.

As the Doctor and Burgess head towards the massive twin towers of 
the "Futures 'R' Us" corporation, they come face to face with a very 
large reptile.  And it seems to be hungry ...

>>>

Episode Two



Burgess snatched up the Proton Assault Cannon and brought the 
stock up to rest on his shoulder.  He flipped the mode selector to the 
setting marked: 'Absolute Maximum Destructive Power - Only use this 
if you *really* want to piss somebody off!', and carefully centred the 
creature in the digital video viewfinder.

The Doctor heard him take the weapon off safety and, very carefully, 
she raised her left hand, without once taking her eyes off the reptilian 
beast.  "No," she said, calmly, only just loud enough for Burgess to 
hear her.

With deliberate and cautious movements, she stepped closer to the 
animal and reached out to touch the leathery hide of its long snout.  
As her outstretched palm made contact, she felt a very slight shudder 
run through the animal's body.  A moment of indecision during which it 
stared at her with eyes that seemed to be cycling through anger, fear, 
and curiosity.

Slowly, it closed its jaws and lowered its head to the ground, resting 
the length of its snout on the mossy soil, and looking up at her as if it 
were a pet waiting to see what it should do next to please its mistress.

Flight Lieutenant Burgess looked on with dismay.  He had lowered the 
Assault Cannon, but it was still set to maximum force.  Now he 
watched as the Doctor started petting the animal, moving closer to the 
top of its head.  Out of curiosity, he took a step nearer.  At once, the 
creature reacted, raising its head and parting its jaws.

"No."  The Doctor stretched out her hands towards the animal, trying 
to calm it.  "No, there's nothing to fear."  She waved Burgess away 
with one hand, while still keeping her gaze on the creature.

It blinked its eyes, then looked back at the Time Lord, and this time 
there was sadness in them.  By now she had reached its long 
serpentine neck, and she could see the immense size of the beast; at 
least fifty metres in length.  It had a long neck that joined to a pear-
shaped body, and a snake-like tail that stretched away into the woods.  
A massive pair of wings, like those of a bat, were folded against its 
humped back.

"What is it, Doctor?" Burgess finally asked, keeping his voice as quiet 
and calm as he could manage.

"This, Lieutenant, is a dragon," said the Doctor, as she patted the 
animal at the base of its neck. "Probably one of the last remaining 
dragons in the entire Universe."  She studied the dragon's hide, and a 
dark frown came over her face.  "Who did this to you?" she asked it, 
gently examining the deep scar in the creature's hide.

The dragon didn't say anything, but its eyes were still focused on her, 
watching her every movement.

The Doctor knelt down and started fumbling in her pockets, anxiously 
pulling things out and carelessly discarding them.  A scale model of an 
old blue Earth Police Box ended up in the bushes, as did something 
that looked like a tattered old film script.  As Burgess wandered over, 
he glanced at the typing on the cover of the document, only able to 
make out the text 'Fight The F' beneath an enlarged capital X within a 
lopsided circle.  Next came an inflatable swimming pool that he only 
just managed to dodge - which was a shame, because it was full of 
water, and he really needed a bath.

"Oh, where *is* it?" she muttered, reaching deeper still into the 
dimensionally transcendental pockets of her coat.

"What are you looking for, Doctor?"  He knelt down beside her, 
carefully reaching out to touch the dragon's neck.

"Ah!" she said, proudly holding up a stone jar.

Burgess looked at the jar.  There was no label, and it was very dusty.  
Without warning, she blew some of the dust right into his face.  He 
sneezed.

"You haven't got a cold coming on, have you?" the Doctor asked, as 
she started working to remove the lid.  "Only colds can be very nasty 
things ... especially if you're a dragon."

The dragon, who had been watching all of this without reaction, 
suddenly looked extremely alarmed.

She got the lid off, and showed Burgess the disgusting-looking brown 
cream inside.  "Raw essence of Bondarisian Slimoid.  Picked it up 
when I was on Earth, of all places," she explained, enthusiastically.

"Oh yes, Doctor," said Burgess, looking first at her and then to the 
dragon, who looked distinctly suspicious.

"Yes," she said, reaching into the jar and scooping out a substantial 
dollop in her hand.  "It has very powerful healing properties."  Then 
she added, with a knowing wink in his direction, "If you thought 
Brimbasbador Ungothorax Major was a depressing place, just wait 
until you see Watford.  That's in England, by the way."

He nodded wearily.

"In Europe."

He nodded again.  The dragon looked on.

"On Earth."

"Yes, Doctor," said Burgess, holding his hand to his forehead, "I had 
gathered that."

"Oh, had you?  Oh, well ..."  She turned back to the dragon.  The 
gooey lump of slime was bubbling away in her hand; it didn't look at all 
nice.  "... Just trying to impart a little knowledge," she said, under her 
breath, her voice trailing off into an almost incomprehensible mutter.  
"... Doing my bit to raise the general level of educational standards 
throughout the Cosmos ... I mean, is that so wrong? ... I don't know ..."

The dragon looked at her with an expression that was very easily 
interpreted as meaning: You're surely not proposing to put *any* of 
that stuff on me?

Gently, the Doctor proceeded to rub a generous quantity of the salve 
into the weeping wound on the dragon's neck.  The creature rolled its 
huge eyes, and let out a low growl of contentment, as she treated the 
entire length of the gash.

"There," she said, when she had finished, "Good as new."  Then she 
looked for something to wipe her hands on.

Burgess unzipped one of the pockets on his jump-suit, and produced 
a large white handkerchief.  She took it from him, studied it to make 
sure that it wasn't harbouring too many bugs, and then she started to 
wipe the residue from her fingers off onto it.

She took one last look at the huge reptile.  It had closed its eyes, and 
now seemed to be sleeping contentedly.  The wound along its neck 
was already showing advanced signs of healing.  Satisfied, she 
handed the slimy handkerchief back to Burgess, and studied her 
handiwork with undisguised pride for a few moments longer.

"It only goes to show that even really nasty disgusting and totally vile 
alien life forms, intent on consuming everything they come into contact 
with ... have their uses."  She smiled, indicating the now half-empty 
stone jar.  "Well, come along, Lieutenant.  Places to go.  Things to do.  
Universes to save ..."  And with that, she started marching off into the 
forest.



--- --- ---



Rondas looked down on the underling with an expression of such total 
and seemingly indisputable superiority that the poor little man had no 
option other than to turn a very deep shade of scarlet; all the way from 
the tip of his forked tail to the noses in the centres of both of his faces.

"Prenderville," said Rondas, rolling the 'Pr' between his lips as if he 
were trying to play music on a piece of greaseproof paper wrapped 
around a comb - which, of course, he would never do because (a) all 
Troplothians were completely devoid of body hair, and (b) he was a 
singularly un-musical individual, who much preferred to listen to the 
grovellings and pleadings of those beneath him, than any symphony 
or chorus.  "You are a blithering imbecile."

The Crunkocruntakorian looked at him from beneath the eyelids of six 
optical receptors (three on each head).  Finally, he spoke, and his 
voice came blubbering out from between his quivering lips like an 
unset jelly.  "Yes, Your Extreme and Unequalled Eminence."

"More than that," said Rondas, as he hoisted himself out of his swivel 
chair, and walked around the front of his huge desk.  "You are a total 
cretin."

"Yes, Your Extreme and Unequalled Eminence."

Rondas leant towards the being, reached out, and took hold of one of 
his two metre long tongues, using it to pull Prenderville slowly towards 
him.  "In fact, you are so useless, that for me to even tell you how 
useless you are is, in fact, useless."

"Yes, Your Extreme and Unequalled Eminence."  This time, 
Prenderville's voice came from only one of his mouths, and it shifted 
down an octave.

"Pah!"  Rondas slapped him around the faces several times with the 
end of his own tongue, and then turned his back to him.  "Kindly 
remove yourself from my presence, and go away and kill yourself at 
once."

"Yes, Your Extreme and Unequalled Eminence," said Prenderville, as 
he started to shuffle slowly out of the circular office.  At the door, he 
paused.  When he started to speak, his voice was even more nervous 
than before.  "Um, Your Extreme-"

"Yes, what is it?" Rondas snapped, without looking back at him.

"What method should I use to kill myself?" the pathetic creature 
asked.

A broad grin came across Rondas' face.  "I'll think of something," he 
said, after a few seconds of contemplative silence.  "Now, get out!"

After the swish of the hydraulics had signalled the closing of the door 
behind his Personal Assistant, Rondas turned to see that Serina had 
reappeared from the adjoining room.  She had put on a figure hugging 
silver dress, the one made from the eyelids of Dribdonian Petal Fish, 
and she looked absolutely stunning.

"God, I love power!" said Rondas, drawing in a long deep breath.

Serina crossed the room, fixing her most sultry gaze upon him.  "You 
use it so well, Master," she said, as she reached out to touch his 
chest.  "And so wisely ..."

Rondas looked away from her, out of the panoramic window of his 
968th floor executive office, towards the sweeping forests and rolling 
green hills of Time's End.  Even after all these long months the planet 
still managed to have an effect him.  It was truly a place of outstanding 
beauty, but best of all, was the fact that every last blade of grass was 
his.

To do with exactly as he pleased.



--- --- ---



"That's one hell of a climb," said Burgess, looking up the steep slope 
towards the base of the tower complex.

"Calm yourself, Lieutenant," said The Doctor, tapping her fingers 
together, "A little exercise never did anyone any harm."

"But it must be six kilometres!" Burgess protested, "Uphill!"

"Yes, yes, yes."  She waved his protest aside and launched herself 
into the climb with gutso.  "I can remember when I joined the 
Theopolis Gwangi expedition to conquer Mount Awesome, on Telatrix 
Prime ... Now that was a *climb* ... two hundred kilometres straight up.  
But did old Theo give up?"

Burgess stumbled after her, dragging the Assault Proton Cannon 
behind him.

"Of course he didn't." the Doctor continued.  "... Mind you, he did die 
from heart failure two thirds of the way up."

"Doctor!"  Burgess drew her attention to the approaching aircar.  The 
ovoid vessel swooped down from one of the towers above, 
descending at a sickening speed, and coming to a dead stop just two 
metres over their heads.  It hovered there for a few seconds, 
completely silent.

The Doctor stepped back to get a better look at the vessel.  Just as 
she did so, it suddenly descended to the ground, and came silently to 
rest alongside them.  A pair of gull-wing doors opened on either side 
of the vehicle, and eight heavily armed troopers jumped out, bringing 
their weapons immediately to bear on them.

"I say," said The Doctor, stepping forward to examine the aircar, "Is 
this a model two six oh five?  I haven't seen one of these since -"

"Shut it!" said one of the troopers, raising the butt of his very black, 
and very large laser rifle as if to strike her.

The Doctor looked offended.  "Well, there's no need to take that sort of 
an attitude.  I was just showing an interest in the local culture that's all.  
One can tell an awful lot about a civilisation by the aircars they drive, 
you know."

Burgess looked around nervously.  They had taken the Assault 
Cannon from him, and he was covered by the barrels of at least three 
Colt *ScumKiller* .909 Phased Flux Induction Stasers.

The trooper moved closer, raising the weapon even higher, and 
making his intent clear.  "I said: Shut it!"

"Yes," said The Doctor, darkly, her voice taking on an ominous tone, 
"You did say that."  Then her face brightened up.  She smiled, and 
held out her hand to him.  "How do you do, Sergeant. I am the Doctor 
... and this is my friend: Flight Lieutenant Burgess, of the Survey 
Vessel *StarSearcher*."

He regarded her suspiciously.  With some reluctance, he lowered the 
weapon.  "You'll come with us," he said, coldly.  "Make any sudden 
moves, or try to escape, or do anything else that might put me in a 
bad mood, and I'll-"

"Yes, yes, yes.  You'll feed us to the man-eating six-headed pig rats, 
or throw us into a vat of boiling neutromic acid, or cut us up into tiny 
little pieces with our own toenails ... Well, come along, Sergeant, I 
haven't got all day for this idle chit chat."

She leant towards him, and brushed a speck of fluff from his 
epaulette.  "Take us to your leader."



--- --- ---



"Very good."  Rondas put down the Transcom handset, and returned 
his hand to Serina's neck.  "It seems we have some guests, my dear," 
he simpered.

"Oh, good," she purred, circling her hands around the back of his 
neck, and drawing him closer.  "I do so like meeting new people."

"As do I."  Rondas kissed her on the lips. Not gently, but urgently, 
savagely; brutally.  It was some time before they disengaged.

"One man and one woman," he continued, licking the blood from his 
upper lip.

"One for me," said Serina, reaching out to touch the spot where she 
had bitten into the soft flesh of his lip, "and one for you."



To be continued ...


--- :S5E3: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

The Lord President has sent The Doctor to Time's End, a planet which 
is home to the last remaining species of dragon, to investigate the 
activities of the "Futures 'R' Us" corporation.  The corporation has set 
up a huge facility on the planet, the purpose of which is still unclear.  
Soon after arriving on the planet she meets Flight Lieutenant Burgess, 
apparently the only survivor of a survey mission to locate chrononic 
ore.

After encountering an injured dragon, which they manage to help, 
Burgess and the Doctor are captured by armed troopers.  Meanwhile, 
in his executive office, 968 floors up, the power-mad Rondas and his 
mistress, Serina, learn of the imminent arrival of two new guests ...

>>>


Episode Three



The room where they had been instructed to wait (ordered to wait, 
actually, under the threat of extremely nasty things happening to 
them) was circular.  Circular, like the huge glass and synthicrete tower 
in which it was located.  Circular, so that it was easy for the Doctor to 
pace around its circumference at least 2.5 times every minutes.

Burgess had settled into one of the deep reclining chairs, and he was 
thumbing through a colourful brochure that stated, in no uncertain 
terms, what an incredibly wonderful and life-enhancing corporation 
"Futures 'R' Us" really was.  There were more of the lavishly produced 
advertisements scattered tidily over the top of the big round glass 
table.

The Doctor stopped by the panoramic window that covered more than 
half of the entire circumference of the waiting room.  She fixed her 
gaze beyond the glass, on one of the dragons, as it swooped 
gracefully through the clear sky and looped around the outside of the 
tower, its great leathery wings outstretched on either side of its 
reptilian torso.

"Aren't they magnificent creatures?" she said, to no-one in particular.

Burgess looked up, resting the brochure across his knees.  "Can't 
disagree with you there, Doctor," he said.

She sighed.  "In this time, the dragons that we're seeing are probably 
the last of their kind."  She turned away from the glass and came over 
to sit opposite him.  The Doctor interlocked her fingers and rested her 
chin on the backs of her hands, looking down at the pile of brochures, 
but her gaze was unfocussed, as if she were seeing right through 
them.  "And now they've been driven from every planet in the 
Universe.  Hunted down for their *magical* properties ... an incredibly 
intelligent and honourable race ... practically wiped out."

Burgess said nothing, he was intrigued by this strange woman.  At first 
glance she appeared to be of Terran origin.  She certainly shared that 
planet's terrible dress sense, but there was clearly something more.  
Something that was not only non-human, but almost non-anything, as 
if she were something more than just a life form.

Certainly she was far stranger than anyone he had so far encountered 
on his travels.  And that even included the thirty-six legged multipeds 
of Gamma Arianus IV, a race that engaged in sex only once in their 
entire nine thousand two hundred and forty year lifespan; and, at the 
precise moment of climax, dissolved into clouds of oppositely charged 
quarks - which promptly collided with one another, totally annihilating 
all matter within a forty billion kilometre radius!

Suddenly, the Doctor's eyes seemed to lock on to something, and she 
snatched up one of the brochures.

"Listen to this," she said, reading eagerly, "Your future is our business: 
How Futures 'R' Us can tailor your personal future to meet your 
specific requirements.  Take the worry out of life.  Know your place in 
the Universe.  Better than that: define your place.

"Futures 'R' Us - we make the future what you never dreamt possible!"

"Sounds great," said Burgess, in a tone of voice that said it didn't, at 
least not to him.

"No it doesn't," the Doctor responded.  "It sounds totally appalling."

She turned over the page and continued reading to herself.  "It says 
here that they are using a revolutionary new process based around 
the ectomonostatic inverse stimulation of chrononic ore ... The fools!"

Burgess was about to say something, but the door to the waiting room 
swished open.  They both looked up.

Rondas had changed into a smart grey business suit, with a pale 
charcoal high-collared shirt, and a thin dark grey tie.  Serina still had 
on the Dribdonian Petal Fish scale dress, and it was clinging to her 
figure in exactly the right places.

Burgess found it hard to take his eyes off the tall woman.  Firstly, 
because she was built to exactly the right genetic blueprint that was 
designed to stimulate the male gender of any member of the 
humanoid-derived species group (and quite a few non-humanoid ones 
as well).  But secondly, because she had fixed her eyes on him in a 
manner the intent of which could never be misunderstood.

Rondas strode forward.  Both of the Troplothians were tall and 
completely hairless.  Although their facial features were close to 
humanoid normal, they had no head hair and no eyebrows.  He stood 
over the Doctor, who, even when she rose to her feet, only came face 
to face with the centre of his chest.

"Elzevier Rondas," he said, holding out his hand, "Chief Operations 
Officer for Futures 'R' Us, here on Time's End."

She studied his features for a moment before replying.  It was surely 
her imagination, but weren't both of her hearts beating just a little bit 
faster than normal?

"I'm the Doctor," she said, shaking his hand, and feeling something 
like a mild electrical current in the touch.  Fortunately, she knew all 
about the Troplothians, and also that the Time Lords were completely 
immune to the effects of their peculiar pheromone secretions.  "And 
this is Lieutenant Burgess."  She tilted her head in the other man's 
direction.  "Somebody shot his ship down.  I don't suppose you'd know 
anything about that, would you?"

Rondas looked shocked.  He placed a hand on her shoulder, and 
guided her towards Burgess.  "Really, Lieutenant?  You must give 
Serina all the details."

Burgess looked at Serina.  The Doctor looked at Burgess.  His pupils 
were enlarged; he was sweating along the top of his lip, and she could 
tell that his pulse had risen by about 10 beats per minute since the 
two Troplothians had entered the room.

Serina held out her hand to Burgess.  "Serina Carathanos," she 
introduced herself, "Chief of External Security."

Nervously, he took her hand and shook it.

"Well, then," said Rondas, rubbing his hands together and looking 
very pleased with himself, "I tell you what, Serina, why don't you go 
with the Lieutenant and help him file a report ... Do you need transport 
off Time's End?"

"Er, yes, that would be very helpful," said Burgess, distractedly.  He 
hadn't taken his eyes off the woman.

Rondas clapped his hands together.  "No problem at all.  Andragorias 
Major is it?"  He thought he recognised the species.

"Minor," said Burgess, uneasily.

"I believe we have a scheduled transporter that passes through the 
Andragorias system ... when is that, Serina?"

She smiled.  "At the end of the week."

"Well, there you are then.  Until then, please accept the hospitality of 
the Futures 'R' Us Corporation."

Serina practically led Burgess by the leash out of the reception room.  
Rondas waited until they were gone, before he indicated to the Doctor 
that they should sit down.

"It really is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor," he said, settling into the 
soft couch right next to her, and extending his right arm along the 
back, behind her shoulders.

She shot him a warning glance.  Most normal humanoid-derivatives 
would have already picked up on the body language by that time, and 
the deep frown would have been the final indicator that signalled an 
imminent elevation to Defcon Three.  But Rondas was Troplothian, 
and they played by a completely different set of rules.

"Rondas, I should tell you," she began, clearing her throat, "That I 
know you're a Troplothian."

"Really?"  He leant closer, placing his hand on her shoulder again.  
"You are obviously a well travelled woman, Doctor ... Tell me, is that 
medical or scientific? - doctor, I mean."

"I am a doctor of many things," she said, carefully removing his hand 
and setting it back down on the back of the couch.  "Not so long ago I 
did a stint in forensic pathology."

"Pathology."  Rondas appeared delighted.  He didn't take his eyes off 
her for one moment.  "Do you know, Doctor, death has always been a 
fascination of mine.  I suppose it's because it's so ... inevitable."

"That is in the nature of death," the Doctor agreed.  And then her voice 
took on that darker tone which indicated that she was squaring up for 
the confrontation.  "But I want to talk to you about life."

"Go on."  Rondas leant closer, studying the smooth curves of her face.

"Future life, in fact ... As in the changing of!"

He jerked back, his concentration momentarily broken.  "Ah, you've 
been reading our brochures I see."

She snatched up the one that she had been studying before they had 
arrived, and waved it menacingly under his nose.  "What is this, 
Rondas?  Do you people have the slightest idea what it is that you're 
dealing with?"

He sighed with disappointment.  "Who are you, Doctor?  Who are you, 
and *why* are you here?"

"I'm a Time Lord," she said, secretly relieved that, for the moment, his 
amorous intentions appeared to have been abandoned.  "Well, Time 
Lady, to be precise - but I find that a little sexist, don't you? so I'll stick 
with Time Lord ... And I'm here to stop the Futures 'R' Us corporation 
from destroying the entire Universe!"

Rondas stood up, and crossed to the other side of the room, where he 
stood by the panoramic curved window.  "A Time Lord."  He let out a 
long yawn, half covering his mouth with the back of his hand.  "I 
thought you meddlers had given up on interfering long ago."

"Rondas, please listen to me."  She threw the brochure back down on 
the table.  "What you are doing here is having an effect on the very 
fabric of the Cosmos.  My people have detected waves of temporal 
harmonics radiating out from Time's End that are affecting the time 
streams everywhere and everywhen - all the way from the Big Bang to 
the Big Crunch."

He dismissed her statements with a regal wave of his left hand, and 
turned to look out of the window.  "I have never heard such utter 
rubbish, Doctor.  All we are doing here is to harness the natural time 
focusing properties of chrononic ore to allow a few select individuals 
the chance to live the life of their dreams.  Now, I ask you, what could 
be the harm in that?"

She stood up, and threw her hands in the air.  "What could be the 
harm? ... Rondas, I -"  Then she stopped.  A debate was clearly going 
to be counter-productive, and now that he seemed to have lost 
interest in her she had lost her only advantage.  Bad tactics, Doctor, 
she said to herself.  So she tried something else.  "- will you please 
show me this process?"

The Troplothian considered her request.  It really was a great shame 
that she was a Time Lord, because he found her extremely 
stimulating.  However, seeking any kind of liaison with one of *them* 
would be like attempting to seek sexual satisfaction with a lump of 
coal.  Or so he had heard.  Then again, there was an old Troplothian 
saying that went something like:  Just because the fuse is blown, it 
doesn't mean that the light bulb's broken - or was that from Earth?

"Of course, Doctor," he said, finally.  "Please come this way.  I might 
even be able to show you something that will surprise you."

On the way out, he passed his hand over the proximity sensor, and 
turned out the light.



--- --- ---



The elevator descended at a sickening speed.  At least it made the 
Doctor feel sick.  And Rondas enjoyed seeing the discomfort in her 
face, it made him feel that he had taken back a little of the control.  
Just a little.

"Only another 300 levels," he said, cheerfully.

She glanced at the floor indicator, which was currently showing a 
number in the hundreds, clocking down at an incredible rate.  At least 
some of the complex was underground, then.  That might explain why 
the Time Ship's sensors hadn't been able to identify any temporal 
emanations from the two towers.

Rondas was considering making another approach, and he had just 
started to move in closer to her when something made him jump back 
in shock.  He stared at the tall man who was now standing where, just 
a fraction of a second earlier, the red-headed female Time Lord had 
been.  Dressed equally strangely, like some figure out of history, the 
man looked at him strangely, swept a hand through his long mop of 
curly chestnut hair, and frowned.  He started to speak.

"Rondas, did you see that?" the Doctor asked, a look of child-like 
fascination lit up her face.  "Did you *see* it?"

He just stared at her.

"A Quantum Time Spike," she exclaimed.  "That was my previous 
incarnation!"

Rondas looked at her as if she were mad.  As if he had seen a ghost.  
Which he had, really.

"Curious," she said, thumbing the lapels of her coat.  She looked up at 
Rondas, who, for the first time since she had met him, seemed to be 
at a complete loss for words.  "Well, don't you see, Rondas?  Time is 
being affected.  Local temporal events are being distorted.  Jumbled.  
The damage is becoming localised."

"- Of course," said Rondas, slowly, nodding his head as if in 
agreement, whilst his tone of voice conveyed scepticism.

The elevator came to a sudden stop; the level indicator showed 120.

Now that the Troplothian had regained some of his composure, he 
ushered her out of the lift onto a raised gallery that circled a deep 
chamber.  She peered over the railings at the edge of the walkway.  
About a hundred metres below, a large number of what looked like 
operating tables were arranged in a circle.  Upon each of them lay a 
body.  She could see most of the major species represented there, 
including Terrans, Andorians, Vulcans, Silurians, Draconians.  Even a 
Cyberman!

Each table seemed to be connected by a thick cable to a central pillar 
of complex electronic apparatus.  The bodies lay still, but they were all 
swathed in an aura of soft blue light.

She looked at Rondas for an explanation.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" he said, proudly, "Using the unique properties 
of chrononic ore - properties which, incidentally, our scientists 
discovered - each of them has been taken out of our universe and 
placed into a separate Space/Time stream of their own design.  Their 
own personal universe, built exactly to their specifications.  One in 
which they can live, and die, in exactly the way that they want to.  
They can be the rulers of great empires - they can be heroes and 
legends - lovers of the most beautiful women, or courted by the most 
handsome men.  In short, we make their future exactly what they 
want.  What they never dreamed possible.

"And it's all completely real for them, because we create a totally new 
and separate free-running parallel universe in which they can exist!"

She looked at him, darkly.  "You fools.  Have you the slightest idea 
what it is that you've done?"

"Doctor, what we have done is to tap into the Holy Grail.  What we 
have done is to make dreams come true."

"Nightmares, you mean."  She shook her head, gravely.  "Surely your 
scientists are familiar with Theobald's law of Cosmic Parallelism?"

Rondas gave her another blank look.

The Doctor leant over the railings, counting the number of tables that 
were occupied, before turning back to Rondas.  "A very clever man, 
Pytor Theobald.  Well, closer to an anthropomorphic fish, really ... 
Anyway, his law states that the fabric of the Cosmos is such that there 
can only be so many artificially spawned parallel universes before the 
whole of living creation starts to unravel at the seams.  Do you, by any 
chance, happen to know what number old Theobald established that 
as being?"

Rondas still looked puzzled.  "I don't -"

"Well, I'll tell you," she snapped.  "The number is exactly equal to 
Hartzchild's Constant: The angular velocity of a negatively charged 
upside down quark ... Forty Two."  She stabbed a finger accusingly at 
him.  "Rondas, count how many beds you have occupied down there."

He hesitated.  "I ... I don't need to count them, Doctor.  I know exactly 
how many customers we have currently signed up to the program.

"Forty Two."


To be concluded ...


--- :S5E4: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

On the planet Time's End, the Doctor, assisted by Burgess, last 
survivor of a downed survey vessel, has discovered the purpose of the 
huge facility built there by the multi-trillion Gal-Dollar "Futures 'R' Us" 
Corporation.

Rondas, the Troplothian Chief Executive of the Facility, has taken the 
Doctor to an underground complex - where 42 different beings, from 
worlds throughout known space, are living out their own personal 
futures - in alternate universes created especially for them by the 
Corporation.  But, as the Doctor points out, there is only so much 
room in the Cosmos for alternatives!

And now, with the fate of the entire universe hanging in the balance, 
only the Doctor can save all of living creation from total and utter 
annihilation.

So what's new? ...

>>>


Episode Four



"Well then," said Serina, crossing her legs so that the material of her 
figure-hugging dress fell aside and revealed the tops of her thighs.  
"Now that your report has been filed, perhaps we could turn to other 
matters.  After all, it *will* be three days before the transporter 
arrives."

Burgess would have felt uncomfortable with any woman right at that 
moment.  Three months out from Andragorias Minor, and there hadn't 
been a single day when he hadn't thought about his assigned partner.  
But Chloe was six thousand and eighty light years away ...

What the hell was he thinking?

And with a Troplothian at that!  A genetically engineered humanoid 
species originally created by a company just like "Futures 'R' Us" only 
forty standard years earlier.  A species that up until twelve years ago 
didn't even have the right to self-recognition.

The United Galaxies League had changed all that, of course, and now 
the Troplothians were to be seen on almost every major civilised 
world.

Burgess averted his gaze, and turned his attention to one of the 
colourful Tri-D images that adorned the far wall of her office.  The one 
that depicted an endless harsh sun-parched desert, with the remnants 
of a humanoid skeleton in the foreground.  He stood up and walked 
over to take a closer look.

"Actually, I'd really like to get cleaned up," he said, peering closer at 
the holographic rendition.

She came over and stood at his side, brushing up against him as she 
looked into the image.  "Do you like it?" she asked.

"It's ... interesting," he admitted.

"It reminds me that there are always extremes," she said.  "One 
should always seek out the extremes of one's existence.  Don't you 
think?"

Burgess stared at her.  She looked right back at him, and he felt 
himself starting to fall forward into the bottomless pits of her black 
eyes.

"There you are, Lieutenant," said the Doctor, walking right into 
Serina's office, and coming across to slap him heartily on the back.  "I 
thought I might find you here."

Serina scowled at her, but the Doctor ignored the expression and 
began to steer Burgess towards the door.  "Our friend Rondas has 
been showing me around," she said, as they reached the door where 
Rondas was standing.  She walked right past him, propelling the 
dazed Burgess along in front of her.  "This really is a most interesting 
place.  You just wouldn't believe ..."

Rondas watched them disappear around the curve in the corridor.  He 
looked across to Serina.  She frowned.  He nodded his head slightly, 
then turned to leave.

"It has to be soon," she called after him, an urgency in her voice.

He stopped in the corridor, turned his head to one side, not quite far 
enough to look back in her direction.  "Yes," he agreed, before setting 
off in the opposite direction to the Doctor.



--- --- ---



Once they were out of sight of the two Troplothians, the Doctor 
shoved Burgess through the first door that she could find which would 
open for her.  They found themselves back in the waiting room.

"Are you alright?" she asked, helping the Lieutenant into one of the 
chairs.  She took hold of his right wrist and sought out his pulse.

"Since you ask - no," he admitted.

"Hmmmn ... An overdose of Troplothian Pheromones ... You'll be fine 
in a couple of hours.  Take two aspirin and drink plenty of water," said 
the Doctor.

"Aspirin?"  Burgess looked puzzled.

"There are very few species that are immune to the effects," she 
continued.  "Fortunately, I am one of-"  For some reason she felt 
herself blushing, and she let go of his wrist rather suddenly.

// Damnit - this never happened to the other eight Doctors! //

"Doctor?"

She shook her head dismissively.  "It's nothing.  Nothing at all.  But, 
listen, I need your help with something."

Burgess sat up in the chair.  He had to squint several times to get his 
vision to clear.  "What is it?"

"It could be extremely dangerous," she warned him.

"Good," said Burgess, feeling better already.  "When do we start?"

The Doctor stood up and stepped away from him, tapping the fingers 
of her right hand against her forehead, deep in thought.  It was several 
seconds before she spoke again.  "First, I need one more piece of the 
puzzle."



--- --- ---



The Doctor stepped out of the elevator first.  Out onto the high gantry 
around the underground chamber.  She motioned to Burgess, and he 
joined her by the edge.

"What is this place?" he asked, peering over the railings to the circle of 
sleeping beings below.

"A Nano-Confluic Non-Space Transphasing Chamber," explained the 
Doctor, walking briskly ahead of him along the right-hand arc of the 
gallery.

"Oh," said Burgess, none the wiser.

"But they couldn't have done all of this with just raw chrononic ore," 
she continued.

"Of course not," Burgess agreed, not knowing what the hell she was 
talking about.

They came to another door.  A big, heavy, door.  Really big.  And 
really heavy.  It was labelled:-


MOST INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS

UNSHIELDED TRANSPHASED CHRONON WAVE EMISSIONS

DON'T EVEN *THINK* ABOUT OPENING THIS DOOR!


The Doctor spent a few moments to read the sign, then she reached 
out and took hold of the handle.

"Uh, Doctor."  Burgess caught her arm.  "Is this really such a good 
idea?"

She turned to look at him and smiled.  A very broad smile that was 
closer to a grin, really.  Then she pulled on the handle and opened the 
door.

"Well, I only asked," he said, following her into the dimly lit passage.

They walked for about ten metres before arriving at a spiral staircase 
that led straight down.  She peered over the edge.  A soft blue glow 
was coming from somewhere down below.

"Curious," she whispered.  Gingerly, she stepped onto the first rung of 
the steel steps.  When she was satisfied that the structure was 
reasonably sound, she began slowly descending.

After ten steps, the Doctor looked up to see Burgess still standing at 
the top, looking warily down at her.  "Well, come on, Lieutenant.  It's 
only a little harmless Transphased Chronon radiation."  She sighed 
and shook her head, muttering beneath her breath as she started her 
descent again.  "Honestly ... I don't know ... you just can't find a good 
companion when you need one ..."

It took them several minutes to reach the bottom of the stairs, and 
they found themselves on a circular landing from which several heavy 
doors led off.  Each of the doors had a round glass portal set into it, 
and the soft blue light was coming from beyond them.

The Doctor reached into her pocket and pulled out her polymorphic 
pliers.  She made a small adjustment to one of the control studs, and 
started waving the tool around the room, pointing it at each door in 
turn.  The instrument started making a load burping sound.

"Chronon radiation," she said, distractedly.  "But there's something 
else ... some chemical element ..."

Burgess looked over her shoulder at the array of flashing coloured 
lights on the pair of silver pliers.  "What?  You can tell all that from 
those three coloured lights?" he asked, astounded.

"Of course not," she said, looking equally astounded.  "They're just 
telling me that the batteries are running down."

"Then wh-"

The Doctor pointed to a sign that repeated the message that had 
warned them away from the door at the top of the stairs, and then she 
tapped the end of her nose.  "I have a very keen sense of smell, 
Lieutenant Burgess, and I smell -"

Burgess sniffed a couple of times.  "You're right.  Something like ... 
almonds?  No, walnuts ... No-"

The Doctor sighed impatiently.  "Oxy-tripto-symethylene Nanoxide," 
she said, shoving the pliers back into her coat pocket and walking up 
to one of the doors.  She peered inside.

"See anything you like, Doctor?"  It was Rondas' voice, coming from 
across the other side of the chamber.

She spun around.  "But this is ..." her face was dark with anger and 
disgust, "... inhuman!"

"Oh, really.  Such melodrama," Rondas grinned, slowly panning the 
Smith & Wesson hand-held 80 Gigawatt Kill Laser back and forth 
between her and Burgess.

Carefully, Burgess leant back and peered through the thick glass 
portal.  "My God."

Beyond the heavy door was a large steel-walled chamber, its interior 
bathed in a sickly blue light.  Occupying most of the compartment, an 
unconscious dragon was lying, partially immersed, in a viscous purple 
slime.  Thick cables had been attached to metal spikes forced beneath 
the creature's flesh at several points around the base of its neck.  The 
cables led up to the roof, to terminate in some piece of apparatus, the 
purpose of which he couldn't even begin to guess at.

"These creatures have never done you any harm," said the Doctor, 
angrily, taking a step closer to Rondas.  "By what right do you 
imprison them like this?"

"Do I need the *right*?" he asked, with genuine surprise.  "Is it not 
sufficient simply that I *can* do it?"

She regarded the Troplothian with total contempt.  "Where is your 
playmate, Rondas?  Where there's one Troplothian there's -"

Serina stepped out of the shadows.  She was also holding a Kill 
Laser.  "Personally," she said, smiling a lethal smile, "I think they're 
just incredibly sweet."  Seeing the expression on the Doctor's face she 
continued, "Oh, but we let them go afterwards.  We don't kill them!"

"No," said the Doctor, glancing across at Burgess, whose attention 
was once again on the female Troplothian, "But you might just as well.  
Do you have any idea how important Oxy-tripto-symethylene 
Nanoxide is to a dragon's base body chemistry?"

"No," said Rondas, nonchalantly, "And frankly, Doctor, I don't really 
care.  All I am concerned with is that the chemical that those ... 
reptiles ... secrete while they dream, holds the key to our being able to 
harness the full power of the chrononic ore."  He waved the gun 
towards her.  "Now if you two would like to step this way, I believe that 
we have some unfinished business."

"What do you mean?" Burgess asked.  He hadn't at all liked the way 
that last sentence had come out.

"Well, let's just say that we Troplothians have certain ... bodily needs."  
Rondas grinned again.

"Oh, we can't help it," Serina added, sweetly, "It's just the way that we 
were made."  She stepped closer to Burgess, reaching out to stroke 
his cheek with the back of her free hand.

He swallowed hard.  His heart was racing, and his vision was 
swimming in and out of focus.

"It means the end for you," she said, reaching around the back of his 
neck and pulling him towards her, "But, believe me, it really *is* the 
best way to go."  His lips touched hers.

"Stop this, Rondas," shouted the Doctor.  "You saw the Quantum 
Time Spike.  And that was just a warning.  There is much, much, 
worse to come."

"Nothing more than a minor side effect of the chrononic ore 
scintillation process," said Rondas, stepping towards her.

"No, you imbecile!"  She pulled Serina away from Burgess with such 
strength that she sent the woman flying back into the far wall.  Serina 
glared at her, and she would almost certainly have shot her there and 
then, if Rondas hadn't held up his hand to stop her.

The Doctor threw up her hands in despair.  "Listen to me, please ... 
What you are doing here is breaking one of the fundamental 
cosmological laws.  There is a finite limit to the ability of the Cosmos 
to ..."  she searched her mind for the right words, "... encompass ... 
contain ... parallel existences.  Don't you understand?  You've set in 
effect a causal chain that will bring about the complete unravelling of 
everything.  The total annihilation of the Cosmos itself!

"The end of this universe ... and all others!"

"Really," said Rondas, his eyes rolling as if he were in the grip of 
some indescribable ecstasy.  He took in a very long, deep, breath, 
held it, then let it out quickly.  "... Then what a truly *wonderful* 
experience we will all share."

The Doctor clasped her hands behind her back, breathing rapidly.  
Burgess thought for a moment that she was on the verge of some kind 
of panic attack, and he couldn't say that he blamed her.  Instead, she 
walked straight over to Rondas and stared up at him.

"I can't let this go on," she said, coldly.  "It ends now."

Rondas laughed.  "Really?"  He couldn't stop laughing.  After all, he 
was the one holding the fully charged Kill Laser.

"Really," she said, reaching out with her hands to touch the sides of 
his face.

Her action surprised him.  But it was a pleasant surprise.  At least so 
he thought, as she pulled his face down to hers.  In that instant, 
Rondas knew that his genetically engineered Troplothian bio-
chemistry had defeated the Time Lord.  After all, how could she resist 
*him*?  He was the very zenith of male perfection.  The ultimate 
humanoid.  The -

The electrostatic charge that suddenly flowed from the Doctor into 
Rondas was blinding; a harsh white light that erupted from her body, 
as if a super nova had detonated in her place.  The blast instantly 
flooded the entire chamber with its cleansing brilliance, causing both 
Serina and Burgess to cover their eyes with their hands, as they cried 
out in shock.

Rondas' screams echoed throughout the complex as, piece by tiny 
piece, his body was rapidly disassembled at the sub-atomic level.  The 
protons, electrons, muons, and quarks dissipated harmlessly into the 
background, lost amidst the breathtaking kaleidoscopic light show.  
The sizzling and crackling of the residual electricity filled the chamber 
for several seconds after the Troplothian had ceased to exist.

Exhausted, the Doctor stumbled back into Burgess.  He helped her to 
stay on her feet.

Serina was on her knees, weeping.  "Rondas ..."

"H ... He's gone," said the Doctor, her voice rasping.

"Nooooooooo!"

The Doctor waited for a moment and then went over and gently placed 
her hand on Serina's forehead.  When the woman looked up at her, 
there were tears in her eyes.

"I'm ... sorry," the Doctor said, summoning up the last of her energy.  
She closed her eyes.  "... Forget ..."



--- --- ---



Burgess was standing on the boarding ramp, a small rucksack slung 
over his shoulder.  He shook hands with the Doctor.

"Goodbye, Doctor."  He smiled.  "It was certainly ... different."

The tiredness had gone now, and she was beaming again.  "Goodbye, 
Burgess.  When you get back, you make sure that you take Chloe on 
a nice long holiday."

"How did you? -"

She tapped her nose and gave him a knowing grin.  "If I remember 
rightly, the Sun Forests of Pretsomatamia are very nice this time of 
year."

He nodded.  "Doctor, one thing."

She waited for his question.

"What did you *do* to Rondas, down there in the chamber?"

"Me?"  She looked at him innocently, before shaking her head.  "I 
didn't *do* anything.  What happened to Rondas was entirely his own 
doing, the inevitable result of his own uncontrollable greed and lust."

"I ... don't understand."

She blushed again.  "Have you ever heard of the thirty-six legged 
multipeds of Gamma Arianus IV?"

"Yes, of course, but -"

"Well, it's a little like that with we Time Lords," the Doctor said, 
enigmatically.  "... A little."

"But -"

"Goodbye, Burgess."  She shook his hand again, and then started off 
towards her Time Ship.  She didn't look back, not even when the 
transporter rose up into the air on a pillar of invisible force, and then 
streaked out into space.

As she started the long climb back up the grassy hill, to where the 
passport photograph booth was standing, quietly waiting, in the shade 
of a tall oak tree, a large dark shape passed over her.  She looked up, 
and watched with satisfaction as the dragon, serene and graceful, 
glided silently through the air, and then disappeared over the other 
side of the hill.

"Now, where next?" she pondered, pausing to let the sun warm her 
face for a short while, before continuing on her climb.

Of course, there was always that terribly nice little Class M planet.  
Third one out from Sol.  Over in the Western Spiral Arm of the Milky 
Way.

Maybe there.

Maybe.


--- END ---


Changes made for this edition:

Apart from some minor grammatical changes, and the concatenation 
of several broken sentences, the major changes were made to 
episode four: (a) The reader now gets to see what Burgess sees in the 
underground chamber, a vital scene that was missing from the 
originally posted version; (b) The confrontation between Rondas and 
the Doctor has been altered, and the totally unnecessary statement 
that he made about the Doctor being about to suffer has been 
replaced by his dismissal of her warning about the Quantum Time 
Spike; (c) The scene where electrostatic energy flows from the Doctor 
into Rondas has been reworked; (d) The Doctor's final explanation to 
Burgess has been (very slightly) extended.

End Notes:

Even if it wasn't very popular, I still like this story.  It's certainly not 
everything that I had hoped for, but it is the one that ended up being 
the closest to an original draft.  Of course, it has absolutely nothing 
whatsoever to do with the X Files!

These are the only remaining notes that I can find from this story, and 
they are copied verbatim from a page in my scrappy old note book ...

<<<

The Doctor pulled out her pocket watch and studied it carefully.  Ten 
past twelve.  The Universe had ended three minutes ago.


Dragon Dreaming Vats.

- When dragons sleep they secrete Triptothylasamine as they dream.

- Chemical is used to stimulate genetic construct for manipulating 
time.  Lets people shape their individual futures.

- Universe getting overloaded with alternative time lines - close to 
bursting point - The ??? horizon!

Horologics - robots that patrol the base.

Dr. S appalled by what she finds.

- They are slowly killing the last dragons.

>>>

... As you can see, most of the ideas made it into the final story.  The 
name of the chemical got changed, and the Horologics were dropped.


--- :SIX: ---


The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent

Episodes: 14

Date First Posted: 18th April 1998

Last updated: v02 (19th January 1999) 

Summary:

When Scully develops a taste for writing fiction, her chosen subject 
matter lands her in a lot of trouble.  But not everything is exactly as it 
seems.

Rating: PG

Notes:

This was the introduction in the original posting:-

After five Doctor Scully adventures, I find myself in the position of 
having written four more stories than I'd ever intended.  So, if you got 
this far, I hope you enjoyed them.  If you didn't like them ... well then at 
least I made the titles easy for you to skip over!  Anyway, I sort of 
promised that I would write this particular story a while back, but I got 
side-tracked on some other ideas.

So, thanks for letting me use some of your news group's bandwidth 
without flaming me off the face of the planet, and here is the last ever 
Doctor Scully story ...

I originally rated this story G, but some bad language and occasional 
sexual situations have led me to reconsider, and I've upgraded it to 
PG.

--- :S6E1: ---


Episode One



: FBI Headquarters
: Washington D.C.



"Mulder, even if I believed a tenth of this totally absurd story - which I 
don't ..." said Scully, holding the book away from him with one hand, 
and fending him off with the other, "... I am *not* going to give you this 
book!"

"But, Scully, you don't understand," Mulder pleaded with her, as he 
tried to find a way to get his hands on the leather bound volume that 
she was clutching, "That book has been printed with biomorphically 
coded genetic inks.  It has the power to alter human personality."

She looked at him with complete disbelief.  "... Right."

"Scully, I'm serious."  He let his hands fall to his side, and then he tried 
to put on his very best wounded puppy dog expression.  That always 
worked.  Always.

"And there's no use you trying that stupid expression with me," she 
said, stepping back and dropping the book into the top drawer of her 
desk.  She slammed the drawer shut, and sat on the edge of the desk, 
her arms folded.

"But, Scully, it was all part of a plot by an evil Time Lord called the 
Manipulator to take control of the world's governments and start a 
third world war -"

"Mulder, you haven't been at the Peeps again, have you?"  She'd 
been grinning and nodding her head all the while that he'd been telling 
her his unlikely story.

"You know I don't touch them anymore, all that sugar kept giving me 
hallucinations.  Especially the purple ones."

There was a knock at the door.

Scully reached over and twisted the knob, pulling the door open.  A 
short thin man, dressed in dark brown coveralls and wearing a 
baseball cap the wrong way round, stepped nervously into the office.

He looked at Scully first, then at Mulder, then back to Scully.  Then he 
pointed to the colourful logo stitched into the breast pocket of his 
overalls.  It was a picture of some indeterminate member of the 
cockroach family.  There were some words stitched around it, in red 
and blue thread:-


BUG-BUGGERERS inc.

We get the little Buggers - and Good!


"B-B-B-Bug B-B-B-Buggerers," he stuttered.

"I'm sorry?" said Scully, looking at the man as if he'd just escaped 
from somewhere.

"B-B-B-B-"

"Bug?" she offered.

"B-B-B-B-"

"Buggerers?" she completed, hopefully.

"Y-Y-Y-Yes."  The little man held up a huge blue spray can.  On the 
side of the can there was a picture of a bug being squashed under 
somebody's foot.  The bug had a pained expression on its cartoon 
face.

"You've come to bugger some bugs, then?" said Mulder, grinning.  He 
just couldn't resist it.

The man in the overalls nodded enthusiastically. Hhe started walking 
around the office, waving the aerosol can around, and spraying foul-
smelling purple smoke everywhere.

"So, anyway, Mulder -"  Scully coughed and spluttered, as a cloud of 
purple fumes drifted in her direction.  "- You were telling me that 
you've actually met Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos."

Mulder dodged another cloud of spray.  "Yeah, that's right.  And, 
Scully, she really does travel through time and space in a passport 
photograph booth that's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside."

"You made that up."  Scully grinned.

"Did not," he responded.

"You did too."  She waggled her finger at him.

The little man sprayed some more spray around, then he bowed a 
couple of times, and backed slowly out of the door.  Mulder and Scully 
watched him leave.  When the door clicked shut, they both started 
laughing.

"Bug Buggerers?"  Mulder shook his head with disbelief.

"You've come to bugger some bugs?"  Scully did a passable imitation 
of Mulder's dry intonation.

They both laughed.  Again and again.

When Assistant Director Walter Skinner walked into their office, they 
were still laughing.

"Something funny, Agent Mulder?  Agent Scully?"

Mulder forced a straight face, but it was clearly taking an enormous 
amount of self-control for him to maintain it.  Skinner turned to Scully, 
who quickly altered her expression from a very broad grin back to her 
usual professional pout.

Skinner shook his head slowly, then he handed Mulder the brown 
manila envelope that he had been carrying.

"But, sir," said Mulder, taking it from him, "My birthday's not for 
another three months."

"Well, perhaps if you'd care to study the contents," said Skinner, on 
his way out, "You might still be working for the Bureau when it comes 
time to celebrate it."

On the way out, he stared at Scully again.  Her face was slowly 
breaking up into a grin again, so he just shrugged, shook his head 
slowly, and closed the door on his way out.

Scully looked at Mulder, who looked right back at her.  They both 
laughed.  Eventually, Mulder got around to opening the envelope.

"Well, what is it?"

He held up an eight by ten glossy.  "Recognise anyone?"

Scully's mouth dropped open in surprise.  The picture showed Mulder, 
walking back to a rental Chrysler with a red-haired woman dressed in 
what she could only describe as some form of fancy dress.  She 
stepped closer, taking the photo from him.  And then the penny 
dropped. "Mulder, that's m-"

"-Doctor Scully," he said, in an 'I-told-you-so' tone of voice, "Guardian 
of the Cosmos."

"But -"

"She looks kinda familiar, huh?"

"Aw, come on.  I'd *never* wear banana yellow trousers."

"What about that time at-"

"Well, *almost* never."

"And then there was the-"

"That was different.  They acted as a natural repellent for the 
crocodiles."

"Yeah?  But I can remember when -"

"Alright.  Alright ... but I'd never wear *those* banana yellow trousers."

Mulder studied the back of the photograph, where a message had 
been scrawled untidily in black felt-tipped pen.

"What does it say?" she asked, leaning closer.

"It says: Don't waste your time reading this message because it won't 
tell you anything."

She looked disappointed.  "Oh."

He rummaged around inside the envelope.  Nothing.

"Where did it come from?" Scully asked.

Mulder looked at the return address stamped on the back in smudged 
blue ink.

"Jack's Curio Shop.  4109 West Ninety-Eighth. D.C. - Hey, isn't that 
where we went to get your mom's birthday present?"

"It's where we went to *look* for mom's birthday present," she 
corrected him. "*If* you remember, I had to arrange an afternoon off 
work the following week to *actually* get it."

"Yeah, but it's where *that* book came from," said Mulder.  "... I 
wonder how Skinner got this."

Scully picked up the telephone.  "Let's ask him."

Mulder quickly pressed his finger down on the hook, and took the 
receiver away from her.  "Nah, he didn't look like he was in a very 
good mood ... We'll ask him later."

"Later?"  She regarded him suspiciously.

"Yeah."  He slipped the photograph back inside the envelope, then 
folded the envelope up before putting it in his inside jacket pocket.  
"After we've paid a visit to Jack's Curio Shop."

"Mulder-"

"C'mon, Scully.  It's Friday afternoon.  The weekend starts now."  
Mulder had already made it to the door.

"It's two pm," she said, shaking her head with exasperation, but 
following him nonetheless, "And the weekend doesn't start for another 
three and a half hours!"

"Clock watcher."  He made a face.

"Truant player," she responded, making one back.

Together, they made their way out of the basement at FBI 
Headquarters, and went looking for a pool car.



--- --- ---



"Well, how was I to know it'd be shut?" Mulder defended himself, as 
he flopped down in the reclining chair in Scully's lounge.  "I mean, 
what kind of Curio Shop closes on a Friday afternoon?"

Scully sighed, as she walked past him on her way to the bedroom.

After she'd pushed the door to, Mulder got up and started wandering 
around the room.  He stopped at her desk, where he noticed that her 
PC was still switched on.  Glancing over his shoulder first, to check 
that the door to Scully's bedroom was still shut, he moved the mouse 
and the monitor made a soft crackling noise as it came out of standby 
mode.

"If you want to make yourself useful," Scully called, "I could use a 
coffee."

"Sure, Scully," he said, only half listening.  He was more interested in 
the text that filled the window of her word processor program.  
Becoming engrossed, he sat down and started scrolling back through 
the document.

"You know where it is," she added.

"Uh, huh," said Mulder.

When she appeared behind him, ten seconds later, he was totally 
absorbed.

"Mulder," she said, standing behind him with her arms folded, now out 
of her business suit and into a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt.

"Hmmmn," he murmured, clicking in the scroll bar with the mouse to 
bring the next paragraph on to the screen.

"The coffee is in the kitchen, I think you'll find."

"Huh?"

"Mulder!"  She reached past him, and switched off the monitor.

He spun around, looking just a little bit guilty.  Well, very guilty, 
actually.

Scully folded her arms again, and looked down at him like a teacher 
scolding a pupil.  "See anything that interested you?"

"I didn't know you were a writer, Scully," he said.  "- I mean, a writer of 
fiction."

"I expect there's lots of things that you don't know about me, Mulder."  
She still had her arms crossed, and she didn't look very pleased.  
Perhaps it was time for the award-winning Mulder schoolboy smile.  
But then again -

"For instance, I expect you didn't know that I don't like people prowling 
around my apartment while my back is turned ..."

"Uh, well, it wasn't quite -"

"... And that, were I to discover someone doing that, I'd be tempted to-
"

"Scully, don't finish that sentence!"  He held his hands up in surrender.  
"Guilty as charged.  I apologise.  Unreservedly."

She stared at him suspiciously for a few seconds, before finally 
breaking into a grin.  "So, what did you *really* think?"

"Well -"

She reached past him again, and switched on the monitor.

"You can tell me," she said, pulling the reclining chair closer, and 
settling on one of its arms.

"Uh -"

"I value your feedback, Mulder.  Really."

"It's just that -"

She pulled the chair a bit closer still, and waited eagerly for him to 
finish his sentence.

"- Don't you think that the whole Doctor Scully concept is a little bit ..."

A scowl came over her face, and he knew at once that he'd said totally 
the wrong thing.  "A little bit what?" she snapped.

"Um, well ... It's, ah, not exactly original is it?"

She considered that for a moment.  Mulder started thinking that now 
would probably be a good time to go and make that coffee.

"You didn't like it," she said, solemnly.

Mulder did his best to look shocked, and he shook his head.  "No, no 
Scully, I *loved* it.  Really."

"But?"

"Well, telling a story to a group of eight year old schoolkids is one 
thing ..."

"You didn't like it," she said, again.

"I guess it's not so much whether *I* liked it," said Mulder, finally, "It's 
all those thousands of people out there on the Internet.  I mean, 
Scully, did you *have* to post it to alt.tv.x-files.creative?  You know 
Bureau policy on that show.  And don't you think that a return address 
of agent.dana.scully@fbi.gov.usa sorta gives the game away?"

She was about to say something, but the doorbell rang.

"Hey, you'd better get that," said Mulder, grinning, "It might be Bug 
Buggerers."

It rang again, so she had to answer it.  Outside, a tall man dressed like 
a cowboy doffed his ten gallon hat, politely.

"Yes?" said Scully, irritated and anxious to get back to her 
conversation.

"Are you Dana Katherine Scully, Ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes, I am."

He handed her a large white envelope, which she took without 
thinking.

"Good day, Ma'am ... Oh, and consider yourself duly served."  He 
turned quickly on his heels and strode off down the corridor at speed.

As Scully came back into the lounge, she was tearing open the 
envelope.  Mulder looked up.  "What is it?"

She waved a bundle of neatly typed documents at him.  "Mulder, it's a 
subpoena ... I'm being ordered to appear before the Washington State 
Court.  Next Monday at nine a.m."

Mulder frowned.  He stood up, and moved to her side.  "What's the 
charge?"

While he looked over her shoulder, she rummaged anxiously through 
the thick wad of documents, eventually finding the specifics of the 
case.  "It seems that the rights to the Doctor Scully character are 
owned by the English Broadcasting Corporation.

"- I'm being indicted for copyright infringement!"


To be continued ...


--- :S6E2: ---


<<<

In the previous episode ...

Mulder receives a photograph that shows his meeting with Doctor 
Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, in Southfield, Michigan - where, 
together, they had defeated the Manipulator's plans for destroying the 
world.  The return address on the picture says Jack's Curio Shop, 
where Mulder and Scully first found the strange book that started off 
the whole series of adventures, but when they get there - the shop is 
closed.

Returning to Scully's apartment, Mulder discovers that she has been 
writing stories about Doctor Scully, and posting them on the Internet.  
Just as Mulder is in danger of telling Scully what he *really* thinks 
about her stories, a process server delivers a subpoena to Scully.  
She is being indicted for Copyright Infringement, by the original 
owners of the Doctor Scully character, the English Broadcasting 
Corporation ...

>>>

Episode Two



There might well have been a way in which he could have inserted 
one more cigarette into his mouth, along with the twenty or so that 
were already smouldering there, but his last packet was empty.  
Coughing, and spluttering, and choking, and making all sorts of other 
stomach-churning noises through his lungs, Emphysema Man 
screwed up the packet in disgust, and hurled it into the waste paper 
basket.

The Extremely Tall and Stupid Looking Man waited for the crumpled 
carton to land, right on the top of the pile that had already half-filled 
the bin, before he held out another packet of Red Band.

Emphysema Man took one look (up) at his colleague, and shook his 
head with irritation.  "Not my brand," he wheezed, dropping at least 
two cigarettes onto the floor in the process.  Seeing what he had 
done, he went down on his knees and immediately began scrambling 
about on the ground to retrieve them.

"Has the subpoena been served?" asked the Man With an 
Indeterminate Accent, in an accent that could not be distinguished as 
originating from anywhere that was at all well known.

Emphysema Man shoved the two cigarettes back into the corner of his 
mouth and nodded frantically, showering the other man with copious 
quantities of ash, and puffing thick clouds of carcinogenic tar-laden 
smoke in his direction.  "It has," he coughed.

"Then, gentlemen, the wheels have been set in motion.  The first 
stages of our plan are underway."  The Man With an Indeterminate 
Accent folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes.  He seemed, 
to the other two, to be meditating.

The Extremely Tall and Stupid Looking Man took a step closer, 
bashing his head on the low rafters of the ceiling.  The loud crack 
echoed right through the smoky dimly-lit room.

The Man With an Indeterminate Accent opened his eyes suddenly, 
and smiled.  His gaze went from the tall man to the one who was 
going to die of lung cancer in the very near future.

"It really is a pleasure to see that our operation is proceeding so 
smoothly," he said, clammily.  "With his partner in jeopardy, Mulder 
will behave in exactly the way that he always does.  He will be so busy 
running around trying to save Agent Scully that, once again, he will 
not see the wood for the trees."

Emphysema Man coughed.  In fact, he coughed so hard that he had 
to temporarily remove all 20 cigarettes from his mouth, so that he 
could spew up some phlegm into a dirty handkerchief that he pulled 
from the top pocket of his jacket.  "You shouldn't underestimate him," 
he rasped.  "Mulder is not quite as straightforward as that."

"Of course he is," said the man with no accent.

The Extremely Tall and Stupid Looking Man nodded his head stupidly, 
in mute agreement.

Emphysema Man glared at him.

"There is one prerequisite."  The accentless man's voice became just 
a little bit more urgent.  "You must retrieve the book at once."

"It might not be there," Emphysema man countered.

"It will be."

"How can you be sure?"

"Relax, my friend," said the Man With an Indeterminate Accent, 
reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of 40 Lung Stripper 
Triple-X Unfiltered.  "Here.  Have a cigarette."



--- --- ---



: EBC Television
: Licence Fee Enforcement Agency
: Two Channels Tower
: Docklands
: London, England, EU



Winston Bradwell, Senior Licence Fee Collector (Third Grade), paced 
back and forth in the short length of corridor outside his boss's office.  
He had been waiting one minute seven point three seconds.  Exactly 
seven point three seconds longer than the time that had been 
indicated by Jaqueline, his boss's secretary, when she had said, "He'll 
just be a minute."

He looked again at his multi-function digital wristwatch.  The one that 
he'd got free when he'd taken out a ninety year non-cancellable 
subscription to Cloud Television, the latest satellite channel that was 
screening, 24 hours a day, repeats of his favourite science fiction 
series, Doc-

"Come in, Winston," said his boss.  He was standing at the door, 
wringing his hands together with anticipation.

Nervously, Bradwell cleared his throat.  He glanced at Jacqueline 
who, as usual, was totally ignoring him, then he stepped forwards.

"Take a seat."  His boss waved a hand towards a rickety old steel 
chair that had hessian sacking strung between the uprights, while *he* 
descended into a padded leather swivel recliner that had certainly cost 
more than Bradwell would ever be likely to earn in a hundred lifetimes.

Bradwell cast a glimpse at the posters lining one wall of his boss's 
office.  One of them showed a squad of heavily armed Licence Fee 
Collectors backed up by an armoured car, advancing on a cowering 
retired couple who were dressed in rags, and were carrying all of their 
belongings in a pair of tatty carrier bags.


Licence Fee Evasion

It said, in bold, blood-streaked, letters.

It's not fair.  It's not right.  And it upsets the Chairman of the EBC!

Pay or Die!


Similar posters represented a recurring theme which, broadly 
speaking, revolved around the concept that failure to pay your 
television licence fee, a heinous crime more serious than any other on 
the statute books, would lead to the severest of punishments.

"How are you then, young Bradwell?" asked Bradwell's boss.  
"Keeping well, I hope?"

"Um, actually I've had a spot of bowel trouble -"

"Good.  Good.  Glad to hear it."  His boss offered him the silver bowl 
full of marshmallows.  "Rabbit-shaped marshmallow?"

Bradwell shook his head because (a) he didn't like marshmallows, and 
(b) they didn't look anything like rabbits.

"Now then, young Bradwell.  Got a little job for you.  Something a little 
bit different."

"Sir?"

"Need you to go over to the States," said Bradwell's boss, getting out 
of his chair and marching down one side of his office, military fashion, 
towards a tall filing cabinet.  "Some blasted woman over there has had 
the dashed impertinence to write stories about one of our television 
shows.  Can you imagine the gall of these Yanks?"

"Uh, which show would that be, sir?" Bradwell asked cautiously, 
twisting his head around to try and see what it was that his boss was 
extracting from the filing cabinet.

His boss came back across the room, again marching in perfect 
double step, and handed Bradwell a blue plastic folder.  The young 
man's eyes lit up as soon as he saw the diamond-shaped logo that sat 
square in the centre of the front cover.

"Thought you'd like that, young Bradwell," he said.  "One of your 
favourites, isn't it?"

Winston Bradwell was ecstatic.  So ecstatic that he didn't check the 
display on his digital watch for at least another sixty seconds.  Maybe 
longer.

"Sir, you know I'm a great fan of Doctor W-"

"Yes, yes.  Well everything you need is in there.  Our office over in 
Washington is handling the prosecution.  And we've got the full co-
operation of the State Department, FBI, CIA, NSA etc.  This is serious 
stuff, Bradwell.  If this young slip of a girl thinks she can take on the 
might of the EBC ... well, I can tell you, she's got another think 
coming."

"Right, sir," said Bradwell.  "Uh, it says here that she's an FBI agent."

"Scandalous, isn't it?" Bradwell's boss grunted with distaste.  "What is 
the world coming to when you can't trust law enforcement officers to 
be good, honest, upright citizens?  Why, I wouldn't mind betting that if 
she lived in this country, she'd be another one of those damned 
communist lefties who won't pay their television licences.  
Scandalous, I say!"

As he continued skimming through the file, Bradwell came across a 
picture of Scully, which he pulled out and held up to the light to take a 
closer look at.  Dressed in a smart dark grey business suit, and 
sporting an FBI ID pinned to her top pocket, she looked cool and 
professional.  Something about her though, about *that* particular 
pose, was instantly familiar to him, and he was certain that he'd seen 
her somewhere before.  In fact, the more he studied the photo, the 
more certain he became.

The young man was certain of something else too; this lovely little 
redhead was almost as pretty as his boss's secretary, Jaqueline, with 
whom he had totally failed to make any progress in the romantic 
department, for almost as long as he could remember.  Quite possibly, 
even longer than that.  Then the thought crossed his mind that he 
would almost certainly get the opportunity to meet Special Agent Dana 
Katherine Scully whilst on this assignment.  After all, it'd be hard to 
avoid, seeing as how she was a dangerous criminal that he'd been 
tasked with helping to bring to justice.  And it was then that he started 
going weak at the knees, which was of absolutely no relevance 
whatsoever, considering that he was sitting down.

About the same time that his discomfort was being manifested as a 
deep cherry-red glow spreading out across both of his cheeks, he 
suddenly remembered which television show it was that he thought 
he'd seen her in.  It couldn't possibly be the same person of course, 
but then there *were* those pictures of the actress that he had pasted 
to the wall of his pathetic little bedsit, the ones out of FHM.  "Hold on, 
sir. Isn't she -"

"- Out of job by now!" grunted Bradwell's boss, "And hopefully rotting 
away in some stinking jail cell along with the other Commies!"

Bradwell winced visibly.  He didn't like the sound of that very much, 
but he didn't say so, having enough sense to know that his boss would 
not take kindly to even the slightest disagreement with any statement 
that he had uttered.  Tolerance, like so many of the positive human 
qualities, was not a notable part of his boss's repertoire of character 
traits.  Still, he didn't like the image of this lovely woman incarcerated, 
alone and helpless.  Not unless he was there with her, to comfort and 
support her.

He knew that he was blushing again, and that it was only a matter of 
time before his boss said something.  He was that kind of person.

"There *is* just one more thing," the young man said, seeking to 
change the subject that preoccupied him as quickly as possible, in the 
hope that it would return the colour of his skin to its normal pallor.

"Yes, what is it?"

"According to this file, the stories that she's been writing are under the 
title of Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos."  He felt the 
temperature of his skin cool, and he allowed himself a silent sigh of 
relief.

"So?"

"Well, that's not what *our* series is called is it, sir?"

His boss's face started to go very red.  Almost as red as the blood-red 
lettering on the posters warning about the penalties for licence fee 
evasion.

"And, anyway," Bradwell continued, wondering how much longer he 
was going to have a job, "We *did* cancel our series over eight years 
ago."

"Details, young Bradwell," his boss dismissed him with a wave of the 
hands, "Mere details.  You are to assist the Special Prosecutor to the 
best of your abilities.  Your flight leaves at one thirty ... Well, run along, 
man."

"Yes, sir."  Bradwell got up and walked towards to the door.

"And, Bradwell," his boss called after him, "Don't forget, the 
Corporation expects every man to do his duty."



--- --- ---



: FBI Headquarters
: Washington D.C.



Skinner looked up from his desk, as the two agents walked into his 
office.

"Sorry to trouble you, sir," said Scully.

He folded shut the file that he had been studying.  "I assume that this 
is important, Agent Scully?"

She handed Skinner the subpoena, which he studied with a mounting 
expression of concern.  Scully and Mulder sat down in front of him.  
Eventually, he said, "Is this true, Agent Scully?"

"I have been doing some writing in my spare time, sir, yes," she 
admitted.

"And you've been posting these stories to the Internet?"

"Yes, but-"

"Through a Bureau-supplied account?"

She hesitated, because now, with hindsight, it all seemed so 
ridiculous.  "The strangest thing is that I remember doing it, but -"

"But what?"

Mulder interrupted them.  "Sir, I believe that Agent Scully may have 
been affected by the personality-warping properties of an object of 
non-terrestrial origin; by an alien book that was brought to this planet 
as part of a plot to bring about its destruction."  He said it all 
completely seriously, and both Scully and Skinner stared back at him 
with disbelief.

"Flown down to her, special delivery, in a flying saucer manned by 
little green men, no doubt?" the Assistant Director remarked, 
sarcastically.

"I don't know what his ship looked like," said Mulder, deadpan, "But I 
do know he wasn't green."

"What?"  Skinner was used to Mulder's wild theories after so long, and 
he liked to think that nothing that the maverick agent came out with 
could throw him anymore, but that last statement caused him to raise 
his eyebrows in surprise.

"The Manipulator," Mulder explained.  "An evil Time Lord obsessed 
with ruling the entire universe."

"Mulder, please."  Scully reached out and gently touched him on the 
arm.

He shrugged off her contact.  "Scully, don't you realise that everything 
that's happened hasn't been your fault; that you've been 
manipulated?"

She shook her head, the barest hint of sadness and desperation 
visible beneath her mask of professionalism, and turned back to 
Skinner.  When she spoke, her voice was faltering and uncertain.  "I 
accept full responsibility sir, and I shall be entering a plea of Guilty."

Skinner rubbed his forehead wearily.  "If you do that, Agent Scully, 
you realise that I'll have no option other than to place you on 
immediate suspension."

She saw that he was giving her a chance, and she might well have 
taken it if, at that precise moment, the door to Skinner's office hadn't 
flown open, and the two dark-suited men marched right in.

"Just who the hell are you?"  Skinner rose angrily.

The taller of the two men flashed an ID card under his nose.

"Special Agent Brent Barker, sir.  Office of Professional Conduct."  He 
turned immediately to Scully.  "Agent Scully, I have to inform you that, 
pending the outcome of your trial, you have been suspended from the 
FBI with immediate effect.  I must ask you to hand over your badge 
and weapon at once.

"I don't know how you're planning to plead, Miss Scully," the man 
sneered, "But, frankly, I think it's all over for you now!"


To be continued ...


--- :S6E3: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

Scully has taken up writing fiction in her spare time, and she has been 
posting it to the Internet.  Unfortunately, she has chosen to write about 
Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, the (fictional?) character that 
she and Mulder first discovered in a very strange book at an old curio 
shop.

Mulder thinks that the book is a remnant of the Manipulator's scheme 
to destroy the world, but Scully refuses to believe him.

In a dimly lit and smoke filled room, some very strange men are 
plotting to bring about Scully's downfall - to distract Mulder while they 
implement a much larger plot.  But they're not important right now.

What *is* important is that the English Broadcasting Corporation have 
got very upset with Scully, bringing a court action against her for 
copyright infringement.  Even now, one of their top trouble- shooters 
(well, someone who works for them anyway) is on his way to 
Washington, to assist the Special Prosecutor to bring about a 
conviction by whatever means necessary.

To make matters worse, Scully has just been suspended, pending the 
outcome of .... The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent

>>>


Episode Three



: Office of the United States Attorney
: Washington D.C.


"Think of it this way," said Emphysema Man, withdrawing all twenty 
cigarettes from the pack at once, and inserting them into his mouth en 
masse.  "You have certain ... ambitions.  My - group - can help you to 
achieve those."

Michael Rank bounced the steel stress balls around in the palms of 
his hands for a few more seconds before coming to a decision.  He 
had come a long way in the last few years, from those early days 
running hundred dollar skip traces, and providing grainy photographs 
of cheating wives and husbands.

But everyone had to start somewhere.

He might have started small, but he was damned sure that he was 
going to finish big.

"What's the evidence against this Scully woman?"  He leaned forward 
and placed the stress balls back in their wire cradle, between the 
digital telephone with more buttons than he had fingers and toes, and 
the picture of his beautiful wife and daughter.

Emphysema Man struck a match, and proceeded to light all 20 
cigarettes one after the other.  The match had almost burnt down to 
his fingertips by the time he'd finished.  Carelessly, he tossed the 
charred piece of wood into the centre of the blotter on Rank's desk, 
then he reached beside him and picked up a plastic ring binder, which 
he held under Rank's nose.

"I believe you'll find everything you need in here," he coughed.

Rank waved away a thick cloud of nicotine smoke, and took the folder 
from him.

"We've also arranged some ... assistance for you," Emphysema Man 
continued.

"I don't need any outside help."  Rank was dismissive, as he started 
flipping through the file.

"Don't you?" asked the other man, seeming surprised, or at least 
acting that way.  "Well, my affiliates would feel more - at ease - were 
you to agree to work with this man."

Rank grunted with annoyance.  "Alright, who is he?"

Emphysema Man coughed and spluttered, and puffed even harder on 
the cigarettes that filled his mouth.  So much so, that it made it 
extremely hard for him to talk at all.

"He's from England.  The English Broadcasting Corporation, in fact."

"Great," said Rank, sounding totally unimpressed.

"He will be," Emphysema Man assured him.



--- --- ---



: Legal Plaza
: Washington D.C.



Neville. T. Rustingside III, Attorney at Law, and senior partner at 
Rustingside and Taylor Associates, made a clucking sound with his 
tongue against the roof of his mouth, and shook his head in a manner 
that was not altogether confidence inspiring.

Mulder was staring out of the huge window, towards the sunset that 
was falling rapidly below the city skyline.

Scully sat perfectly still, her hands clasped together and resting in her 
lap, watching every expression, every nuance of body language that 
the lawyer displayed.

"It's not good is it?" she said, more to relieve some of the tension that 
she felt than to receive an answer.

Mulder twisted his head around.

Rustingside closed the file, dropped it in his lap, and began to steer 
his wheelchair around the front of his desk.  He came to a halt just in 
front of her, and reached out to touch her hand.

"No, Dana," he said with a soft, kind voice.  "It's very, very, bad."

She started to say something, but Rustingside swivelled his chair 
around with surprising speed, and propelled himself across the room 
towards the ornate drinks cabinet.

"But that's what you're paying me to worry about," he said, his voice 
rising quickly to a more cheerful intonation.  He selected a 70cl bottle 
of Chong Zo Fung single malt, specially imported from the People's 
Republic of China, removed the top, and poured himself a very large 
measure into a heavy bottomed glass tumbler.

The lawyer raised his glass in Scully's direction.  "And I am the best, 
Dana.  The very best.  Cheers."

Mulder turned back to the almost dark skyline, shaking his head 
almost imperceptibly.  He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and 
he knew that she was reaching out to him for support.  But what could 
he realistically do right now?

"This has all the hallmarks of an Affiliation plot," he said, without 
looking back at her.

"But what would they hope to gain?" Scully asked.

"They'd split up the X Files team," he suggested, spreading out his 
fingertips and pressing them against the glass.

"It'd do them no good, Mulder, your work would still go on," she 
insisted.

"Well, then maybe it's a distraction ..."

Rustingside steered his wheelchair back to the desk.  "Ah, excuse me, 
but ... Affiliation?"

Mulder crossed to the other big chair and sat down next to Scully.  
"The Affiliation are a group of very powerful people," he explained.  
"Outside the law.  Accountable to no-one.  And they're following a 
secret agenda that we believe is against the best interests of the 
American people."

"Hmmmn," said Rustingside, sipping the whisky, "No worse than the 
IRS then.  And, I take it, you've managed to upset these people."

Mulder grinned.  "Once or twice," he admitted.

"Well, any information that you have on this group will be helpful," said 
the lawyer, indicating that the consultation was at an end.  "Oh, and 
there's also this foreign agent.  What did you call him?  The 
Manipulator?"

"His code name," Scully interjected.  When Mulder had insisted on 
telling him about the Southfield investigation, Scully had proposed a 
slight distortion of the (i.e. Mulder's) truth that wouldn't make them 
both look like raving lunatics.  Although, right at the moment, a plea of 
insanity was beginning to look like her only hope.

"Right."  Rustingside drained the glass empty.  "Well, as I say.  Any 
information."

Scully and Mulder shook hands with the lawyer and left.  When they'd 
gone, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a cellphone.



--- --- ---



: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: Somewhere outside of Einsteinian Space/Time



His gloved hand took hold of the scanner control, and he twisted it 
savagely.  The image of Mulder and Scully, leaving Rustingside's 
office, dissolved into fragments of coloured light.

Had this been a scene from a TV show, the camera would then have 
panned slowly back and up, bringing his shadowed face in to fill the 
screen, the harsh lines of his sinister sneer picked out by a 
strategically placed spotlight.

Or something like that.

Suffice to say that this guy is one evil son of a bitch.

He is so incredibly nasty that he makes the Ebola virus look like an 
attractive cure for a migraine.

The Manipulator is such a thoroughly evil and rotten example of alien 
life, that he ranks second in Braithwaite's Universal Handbook of 
Power-Mad Alien Super Beings, only just being beaten by a whisker to 
the top spot by Percival Ernestine Flugelthwaite, a butterfly collector 
from Boise, Idaho, Earth, who, during an unfortunate trans-
dimensional phase shift, accidentally pulled the wings off what he 
thought was a Great Purple Wanderer but which was, in fact, the 
refugee ark containing the ninety two quintillion survivors of the 
displaced Plondotribian Empire, thereby committing an act of mass 
genocide of a magnitude never before seen in the history of the 
Cosmos.

Of course, it won't be long before the Manipulator gets to that top slot.  
After all, it's what he's aiming for.  It's his career goal.

Everything he ever wanted.

The Manipulator laughed.  He does that a lot, but then he is a 
psychotic sociopath with delusions of Godhood, and an underlying 
schizoid paranoia.  *And* he pulls the heads off jelly babies.

"Soon, Doctor," he drawled.  "Soon your friend will be at his wit's end.  
Soon he will turn to the one person that he believes can help to save 
his partner.  To you, Doctor.  To you!"

With each sentence his voice raised an octave, increasing ten 
decibels in volume.

"And, like the disgusting little do-gooder that you are, you will come 
running.  Right into my trap.  And, this time, Doctor ... You shall be 
MINE!"

"You shall *beg* me to take your place at my side - as my consort 
throughout *all* of eternity.

"Do you hear me, Doctor?  YOU SHALL BEG *ME* !!!"


To be continued ...


--- :S6E4: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

Just about everybody whose anybody appears to be involved in a 
dastardly plot to convict Agent Scully on a charge of copyright 
infringement.  It all started when she published, on the Internet, some 
Doctor Scully adventures that she'd written.

And the players are:-

The Affiliation: A bunch of very odd men with stupid names who are 
hell-bent on world domination.

The Manipulator: The unbelievably psychotic arch-enemy of the 
real(?) Doctor Scully.  A man so evil that he has redefined the word 
evil.  He is dedicated to achieving universal domination - and on 
satisfying his vile and degenerate Time Lord urges with Doctor Scully 
throughout all of eternity.  But not necessarily in that order.

Michael Rank: United States Attorney with a burning ambition.  In the 
pay of the Affiliation, he is intent on becoming the most successful 
human being ever to have walked the planet.  And then some.

Winston Bradwell, Senior Licence Fee Collector (Third Grade):  His 
boss, at the English Broadcasting Corporation (EBC) has sent him to 
Washington to assist Rank in getting a conviction.  Bradwell is just 
obsessed with getting a date with his boss's secretary, but that's never 
going to happen - so, instead, he consoles himself by taking out 
lifetime subscriptions to satellite television channels that only show 
repeats of his favourite TV series.

Special Agent Brent Barker, FBI Office of Professional Conduct:  He 
just doesn't like Scully very much - and he's determined to make her 
life a complete misery.

Neville T. Rustingside III:  Scully's lawyer. He drinks Chinese whisky - 
so what more can you say about the guy?  Like most lawyers, he's 
interested in only one thing: $ $ $ $ $

Covert organisations, power-mad alien super beings, corrupt 
attorneys, and lawyers ... what a nasty rotten bunch they are!

With poor Scully's career in the balance, and Mulder seemingly unable 
to help her, only one question remains:

Where, in all of time and space, is Doctor Scully, Guardian of the 
Cosmos?

Without her, can nothing prevent the seemingly inevitable outcome of 
... The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent.

>>>


Episode Four



"Miss Scully."  For the second time, Judge Isiah Hoskins rapped his 
knuckles sharply on the hard wood.

Scully's eyes frantically searched the courtroom for a reassuring face, 
but she saw only open hostility and hatred.  She found herself feeling 
as if she stood accused of some hideous murder, or a diabolical plot 
to overthrow the government, or conspiring to bring about the 
destruction of the entire planet.  Yet such crimes seemed to pale into 
insignificance alongside the gross travesty that she now stood 
accused of.

"I insist that you enter a plea, Miss Scully," repeated the judge, his 
patience now clearly at an end.

Even Mulder was absent.  She'd expected Skinner to stay away, but 
without Mulder she felt as if her last hope had just drained away.

"Sorry."  She shook herself out of an almost trance-like state.

"How do you plead?" he sighed.

"Not guilty, your honour."

The whole courtroom took a sudden deep breath.

"Very well."  The judge turned his attention to the prosecuting 
attorney.  "Mr. Rank, proceed please."

"Thank you, your honour."  Rank stood up, buttoned up his Armani 
suit, smoothed out his sleeves, and walked slowly out into the main 
area of the court, turning to face the jury.  He waited five seconds for 
impact.  Waited until they were on the edge of their seats.  Waited 
while the CNN camera got a close framing shot on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he opened his palms towards them, "Today, 
your country expects a great service of you.  For there is no greater 
service than to bear the burden of judgement over one of your peers."

He took a step towards where the accused sat, next to the wheelchair-
bound Rustingside.

"And this duty is an especially difficult and vital one.  It must be carried 
out with the utmost precision and accuracy.  The honourable Council 
for the Defence will tell you that I must prove to you, beyond all 
reasonable doubt, that the accused is guilty as charged."

Rustingside was studying some papers.  He peered over the top of his 
gold-rimmed spectacles at Rank, then returned his attention to the 
document.

"And he will be right," said Rank, walking now to the end of the juror's 
benches.  "And if I do anything less in these coming days, then this 
woman must be set free.  It is your duty."

He stopped, halfway down the row.  "But," he paused a beat, "Should 
I prove to you that Dana Katherine Scully, formerly an agent of the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation, one of this country's greatest and 
most highly respected law enforcement institutions, wilfully, and 
maliciously, sought to infringe the copyright of the English 
Broadcasting Corporation, then you, also, will have no option.

"You *must* find her guilty, ladies and gentlemen.  You *must*."

Scully felt her heart pounding; her respiration becoming uneven and 
laboured.  How could this be happening to her?

"And that is exactly what I shall do," said Rank, clasping his hands 
behind his back, and turning away from the jury towards the rest of the 
court.  His eyes zeroed in on Scully, and he stared right at her.  "I shall 
demonstrate to the court how Miss Scully, a trusted Federal Agent, 
sought to misuse her position by utilising a government funded 
Internet account to post her plagiarised works of fiction for thousands 
of people to read.  I shall show you how every piece," he spun back to 
face the jury, "*Every piece*, that she wrote, is based so blatantly 
upon the intellectual property of the EBC that it can be judged as 
nothing less than theft."

Rustingside peered over the top of his spectacles and looked across 
at Scully.  He smiled at her, but she couldn't bring herself to respond.

"That's right, ladies and gentlemen," said Rank, walking back towards 
the jury.  "Theft.  The wilful taking and using of something that does 
not belong to oneself to use to further one's own ends.  And Miss 
Scully is the worst kind of thief.  The kind that betrays the trust that the 
people have placed in her.  The kind that, in other circumstances, 
would be known as: TRAITOR!"  He spun around, and stabbed his 
finger towards her.

She jerked back in an involuntary reaction.

Rank grimaced.  He took a deep breath, perfectly demonstrating to his 
audience the sight of a passionate man fighting to bring his hatred and 
loathing under control.  He could see, from the looks on their faces, 
that his act was working.

"Find her guilty!" he snapped.  "I *know* that you will do the right thing.  
Right for justice.  And right for the American people."

Slowly, Rank returned to his table.  The atmosphere was electric, as 
Rustingside steered his wheelchair out into the court.  He spun it 
around and lined it up in the direction of the jury, then set himself 
slowly moving forwards.

"Council for the Prosecution has placed great stress upon one word," 
he said, his voice low and gravelly.  "The word trust.  And the trust that 
the American people place in their law enforcement agencies.

"Do you have any idea what it takes to become a special agent in the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

He ran his gaze from left to right along the front row of benches, then 
back the other way along the back row.

"Do you know how many months ... years ... of training are required?  
Do you have any comprehension of the dedication that the Bureau 
requires of its agents?"

He could see that they did not, and that they were listening to him with 
anticipation.

"And do you realise just how much a person must surrender in order 
to join that organisation?  A normal family life is the exception rather 
than the rule.  Just take a look at my client, ladies and gentlemen.  A 
healthy young woman who has sacrificed everything to serve her 
country.  Why do you think she would do this?"

He waited, confirming to himself that they were still with him.

"Because she trusts in America, ladies and gentlemen.  Because she 
holds that trust so dear that she will give up everything to help 
maintain the peace and security of this great nation."

Was that a tear that he could see forming in one old lady's eye?

"Trust," said Rustingside, as he approached her.  "There can be no 
greater prize.  And I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, does it really 
sound feasible to you that such a dedicated, loyal, American would 
betray that trust for something so ... inconsequential?"

Good.  At least five of them looked as if they were wrestling with their 
doubts.

"Of course not."  Rustingside appeared to dismiss the whole 
proceedings as an irrelevancy.  "The very notion is absurd.  When the 
Council for the Prosecution even suggests that you consider it, he is 
doing you all a great disservice.

"In this court, over the coming weeks, I shall prove to you - beyond 
any and all reasonable doubt - that the charges against my client have 
been trumped up by a cartel of global criminals intent on discrediting 
the law enforcement agencies of this country.  I shall show how they 
hoped this *sham* trial would dent the reputation of the FBI and help 
bring about the decline that they seek.  A decline that would leave 
them free to engage, unhindered, in their own nefarious activities.

"Ladies and gentlemen.  Together, we shall examine the real facts.  
Together, we shall explore the spotless record of this remarkable ... 
this loyal .. and highly capable, law enforcement officer.  Together, we 
shall come to see how Dana Katherine Scully cannot possibly be 
guilty as charged.

"I feel sure that, together, we will acquit this woman and allow her to 
return to the work to which she has dedicated her life."

He paused for three seconds, checking eye contact and body 
language.  It was a good start.  All he had to do now was to maintain it 
through to the bitter end.

When he turned back towards his client, he was sure that he saw the 
light catch the moisture in her eyes.



--- --- ---



: 24hr Strip-A-Go
: Downtown Washington D.C.



Special Agent Fox Mulder stared into his drink.  He had stopped 
watching the gyrating naked girls some hours ago, and now the only 
thing that interested him came in the bottom of a glass.

Scully's trial had started two hours ago.  What must she be feeling 
right now?

What he was feeling was more to the point.  He had never felt this 
helpless before.  It was like being paralysed, and yet he knew that 
there were things that he could - should - be doing to help her.

That blasted book.  Why hadn't he broken into her desk and taken it 
down to the lab for analysis?

And why hadn't he tackled the Affiliation?  He was certain that they 
were behind this.

But he knew why.  He knew exactly why he couldn't - wouldn't - take 
any action.  He was being manipulated.  People were expecting him to 
behave in a certain way, and to give in to that urge would be to bend 
to their plan, whatever it was.

He raised his empty glass towards the barman, who immediately 
started walking in his direction.  Then a woman's hand closed on his 
wrist and made him put the glass down.  The barman saw what had 
happened, shrugged, and turned back to the two hookers that he had 
been chatting to.

"Hello there," said Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, "Need any 
help?"


To be continued ...


--- :S6E5: ---


<<<

In the previous episode ...

Scully has been suspended from the FBI, after being indicted for 
copyright infringement, when she publishes some stories that she 
wrote about Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos, to the Internet.  
The English Broadcasting Corporation (EBC) are insisting that the 
Doctor Scully character is a rip-off of a show that they cancelled eight 
years ago.

In the background, two forces seem to be working towards bringing 
about Scully's downfall:  The Affiliation - a cartel of strangely named 
men who enjoy playing God; and the Manipulator, a psychotic Time 
Lord who just wants to *be* God.

As Mulder drowns his sorrows in a cheap strip joint (presumably 
because his VCR has broken down), Doctor Scully arrives back on 
Earth.

But is she too late to save Scully?

And what is the real reason behind the fact that this story is in 14 
parts?

>>>


Episode Five


: Jack's Curio Shop
: 4109 West 98th
: Washington D.C.



The Doctor peered through the thick green glass, shielding her eyes 
from the harsh midday sun with her left hand.  She rapped her 
knuckles on the window pane one more time.

"It does rather appear deserted," she said, drumming her fingers on 
the glass.  "Curious."

"How so?" Mulder asked, pressing his face to the glass shop front.

"I don't know," she replied, thoughtfully.  "But there's something 
terribly familiar about this place ..."

"It was where it all started," said Mulder, thinking back to that warm 
afternoon, and to his and Scully's chance discovery of the book, and 
to what followed.  // No, not *that* ... the other Doctor Scully 
adventures. //

The Doctor gathered up her scarf and flipped it over her shoulder.  
She took a step backwards. "Well, we've got to get inside somehow," 
she decided.

"You're not planning to use the polymorphic pliers again?" Mulder 
enquired, glancing around to make sure that there were no witnesses.

She grinned in his direction, and reached carefully into her pocket.



--- --- ---



"Please state your name and occupation for the record," said Rank, 
leaning on the witness box and inclining his head slightly towards the 
zoom lens of the CNN steadicam, as its operator crossed the front of 
the juror's benches.

The old man cleared his throat, pulled a pair of false teeth out of the 
top pocket of his dark black shirt, and popped them into his mouth.  
He sucked them into place, making a disgusting slurping sound that 
the microphone amplified and the speakers echoed throughout the 
court.

"Berthold Stein," he said, in a kind of American-German accent that 
sounded like it had come out of a bad nineteen-fifties war film.  "But 
you vill call me Bert. Ya?"

"Ya, er, Yes."  Rank adjusted the set of his silk tie slightly, and 
glanced at his reflection in the man's spectacles.  "And your 
occupation ... Bert?"

"I am ze senior lecturer in dramatic writing at ze Vashington Institute 
of Literature and Culture,"  he said, proudly.

Scully shot a glance over at Rustingside.  The wheelchair-bound 
lawyer returned it with a warning nod, then redirected his attention to 
Rank's questioning of the first prosecution witness.

"Bert, would you like to tell the court what you were doing on the 
evening of the ninth of this month?"

"Ya."  Bert nodded with obvious enthusiasm.

Rank waited.  The court waited.

"Well?" said Rank, finally.

"Vell?"  Bert shook his head, and looked confused.

Rank looked up to the ceiling and said a silent prayer.  What I do for 
success and fame, he thought.

"*What* were you doing?"

"Oh ... I vas surfing ze Veb!"  He clapped his hands together with joy, 
as if he had just discovered some long lost toy.

"Surfing the web," Rank repeated, for the benefit of the jury.

"Ya.  Is vot I said."

"And ... while you were 'surfing the web' ... did you come across 
anything that interested you?"

Bert thought about that for a moment.  He scratched his chin, and 
sucked his false teeth, and looked very confused.

Rustingside suppressed a grin.

"Mr. Stein -"  Rank took a very long, and very deep, breath.

"Please.  You vill call me Bert."  Then, as if a two hundred watt bulb 
had just come on inside his head, his face beamed with 
understanding.  "Ah ... Ya.  You mean ze full frontal pictures of ze 
woman from zat series about ze FB-"

"No, Mr. Stein," said Rank, firmly.  "I do not mean that."

"Objection," said Rustingside, smiling, and peering over the top of his 
spectacles.  "Respectfully request that the witness be allowed to 
answer the question."

Judge Hoskins nodded his head sleepily, and glared at the 
prosecuting attorney.  "Upheld," he said.  "Please continue, Mr. Stein."

"Continue vot?" asked Stein.

"Your honour," it was Rustingside, from across the court.  "Request 
that the testimony of the witness be stricken from the record on the 
grounds that he is mentally incompetent to testify."

"Mr. Rank?"  The judge raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, you mean ze stories!" said Stein suddenly, raising his index finger 
up before him.

"Your Honour?"  Rank looked at the Judge with an almost pleading 
expression.

Hoskins waved his hand in front of him.  "Get on with it, Mr. Rank.  
But, I warn you, the burden is on you to demonstrate the credibility of 
this witness."

Scully opened her mouth to say something.  The man was clearly in 
the advanced stages of senile dementia.  How could the judge allow 
him to testify?

Rustingside touched her hand and gently shook his head.

She bit her lip.

"Tell the court about the stories," Rank continued, looking a lot more 
confident now.  So confident, that he managed to slip in a rapid comb 
through his dark brown hair with his left hand.

"Ya, vell it vos like I said.  Zere I vos, zurfing ze Veb, ven I came upon 
zese stories.  Zey zeemed very familiar to me at zat time."

"What were ze - the - stories about?"

"Doctor Scully," the old man said, his eyes lighting up, "Guardian of ze 
Cozmos."

Rank turned to face the jury.  He ran his eyes along both rows of 
jurors before speaking, very precisely:  "Doctor Scully, Guardian of the 
Cosmos."  He turned back to Stein.  "And what was it that you found 
interesting about these stories?"

"Vell she vos a very sexy lady.  You know vot I mean, ya?"  The old 
man was bouncing up and down in his chair now, running the tip of his 
tongue around his lips at high speed, and rolling his eyes.

"Yes, but apart from that, Mr. Stein."  Rank placed his hand on the 
witness box, and levelled his most serious gaze at the man.

"Vot? Oh ... ya."  The man seemed to calm down again.  "Ya, zere voz 
somezing elze.  I zaw it straight avay."

"What did you see, Mr. Stein?"  Rank leant closer to the witness, 
keeping his profile in perfect frame for the NBC camera over on the 
other side of the court.  "*What* did you see?"

Scully looked at Rustingside with a questioning expression.  Once 
again, he nodded very slightly.

"Zey vere a copy, of course," said Stein, his voice becoming more 
steady; taking on more conviction, and rising ever so slightly in 
volume.  "A rip-off.  A steal."

"A copy," said Rank, directing a self-satisfied smile towards Scully.  "A 
rip off," and back to the jury, "A steal," then turning back to Stein for 
maximum dramatic effect.  "A steal of what?"

"Ze most famous science fiction series of all time of course," said 
Stein.  "EBC's Doctor Why."

"Objection," said Rustingside, raising his hand and waving his pen at 
the judge.  "Speculation."

"Overruled," said Hoskins.

"And would you please tell the court why you are so sure of this," 
Rank continued, moving in for the kill.

"Because I wrote ze first six seasons of zat series!"  He shook his fist 
towards Scully, and she stared back at him in horror.

Looking very pleased with himself, Rank returned to his chair.  "Your 
witness, Counsellor."  He said, nonchalantly, as he passed 
Rustingside.

Rustingside snapped his pen in half.



--- --- ---



: Jack's Curio Shop
: 4109 West 98th
: Washington D.C.



"Empty!" said Mulder, the frustration heavy in his voice.

All around them the shelves of what had been the book room were 
completely bare.  Not a trace remained.  Even the dust had been 
vacuumed away.

The Doctor thumbed the lapels of her Edwardian long coat and spun 
through a full circle on the tips of her toes.  "Yes, there does seem to 
be somewhat of a dearth of books," she finally agreed.

Mulder sat down in the same chair from which he had first found *the* 
book; when he had reached behind him at random, and picked the 
first volume that had come into his hand.  That book had been titled 
'Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars', and it had set in 
motion a chain of events that were almost as bizarre as the X Files 
themselves.  In fact, it had been an X File.  It still was.

"Doctor."  He looked up at the female Time Lord, which was really only 
possible from a seated position.  "Right now Scully is probably being 
crucified in that court. I've got to *do* something."

"Yes," she said, thoughtfully, tapping her fingertips together.

They both remained like that for several minutes, Mulder staring at the 
floor, the Doctor running through scenario after scenario in her mind.

"Got it!" she said, suddenly.

"What?"

"A devilishly good plan," she grinned, taking hold of his hand and 
pulling him along after her.

"But, Doctor!"

In the doorway, she stopped suddenly, and his momentum sent him 
crashing into her.  "What?"  she asked, blushing quite visibly, as he 
drew himself, somewhat reluctantly, away from her.

"It's just that ..."

They stared at one another.  It was hard to believe that this was not 
Dana Scully standing in front of him.  Hard, that is, until she spoke, or 
moved, or looked at him.  Or touched him.  Then she was so very 
different.

"Mulder?"

"Nothing," he said, finally, shaking his head.  "Nothing at all."

"Oh."  She shrugged, turned, and marched out of the door, muttering, 
"Curious," under her breath.



--- --- ---



: Department of Defense
: Maximum Toxicity Chemical Weapons Deep Ground Store
: Blue Ridge, Colorado



Emphysema Man handed Colonel Samuel Trago the shrink-wrapped 
package.

The colonel studied it carefully for a moment, squinting to look through 
the semi-transparent wrapping at the leather-bound book within.

Emphysema Man slipped eight cigars into his mouth, and lit them, one 
by one, with an old-fashioned lighter.  He puffed smoke in Trago's 
direction.

"A book?" the Colonel asked.

"*The* book," said Emphysema Man.  "The only one that matters."

"I see."  He handed the package to the lab-coated orderly.  "Level Five 
containment?"

"Six," said the man, coughing and spluttering.

The colonel looked shocked.  "But there is no Level Six."

"Then make one," said Emphysema Man, as he turned to leave.  
"Your life may depend upon it."


To be continued ...


--- :S6E6: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

The case for the prosecution is underway.

The Accused: Dana Katherine Scully, currently suspended from her 
position as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

The Charge: First Degree Copyright Infringement.

The Particulars: That Dana Katherine Scully did wilfully and knowingly, 
and with malice aforethought, conspire to violate the copyright of the 
English Broadcasting Corporation in respect of their science fiction 
television series 'Doctor Why'; by writing, and causing to be widely 
distributed, through the medium of Internet News Group postings, 
several works of fiction based upon that character, under the collective 
title 'Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos'.

The Truth ...

Scully has obviously been set up.  And it's another one of those nasty 
evil plots - by nasty evil men whose names are made up of sentences 
describing their physical characteristics.  Oh, and there's a deranged 
megalomaniac Time Lord in there as well, just for good measure.  His 
name is the Manipulator ... and we've met him before.

So has Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos.  She has arrived on 
Earth just in time to help Mulder to try and save his partner from a 
lifetime in prison.

But they may already be too late, because, as they try to track down 
the origins of the strange book that Mulder believes caused Scully's 
personality to change, a member of the Affiliation, a clandestine 
organisation apparently acting against the interests of the United 
States, delivers the book to a top secret chemical weapons storage 
depot ... from where it may never be recovered.

In the Washington State Court, US Attorney Michael Rank has just 
delivered a crushing blow to the defence, by introducing the author of 
the first six seasons of Doctor Why - and having him testify that the 
Doctor Scully character is a blatant copy.

For Scully, the outlook has never looked bleaker ....

>>>

Episode Six



Rustingside wheeled his chair slowly towards Berthold Stein.  He 
came to a halt just a few centimetres in front of the witness box, 
pausing to rustle the wad of papers that he was holding.

The court held their breaths.

"Mr. Stein," said Rustingside, very slowly and deliberately, as he 
looked up at him over the top of his glasses.

"You vil call me Bert," said Stein, nodding genially.

"Mr. Stein, would you please tell the court how many seasons the 
series 'Doctor Why' ran for in England."

Stein started counting on the tips of his fingers.  He lost count at five, 
and had to start all over again.  Rustingside continued to study the 
papers as if losing interest.  After twenty seconds or so, the 
wheelchair-bound lawyer cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, how many was that?" he asked.

Stein looked at him like the nodding dog on the parcel shelf of a 
Citroen 2CV.

"Do you know how many, Mr. Stein?"  Rustingside glanced over the 
papers again, then turned to the court.

The old man looked dumbfounded.

Michael Rank produced a silver plated comb and nervously groomed 
his quiff, his eyes searching for a camera that was focused in his 
direction.

"You don't know, do you?" Rustingside finally said.

"Objection," Rank jumped up.  "Irrelevant.  And the Council for the 
Defence is badgering the witness."

Judge Isiah Hoskins looked up from his copy of 'What Sentence?' 
towards the US Attorney, then back to Rustingside.

"Goes to the credibility of the witness, your honour." said Rustingside, 
dismissively.

"I'll allow it, Mr. Rank."  He shrugged, and turned his magazine 
through ninety degrees, to better appreciate the centre spread; a full-
length photograph of a gallows constructed from a very tasteful dark 
mahogany.

"You don't *know*, Mr. Stein," Rustingside continued, with a slight nod 
of acknowledgement to the judge.  "And yet Council for the 
Prosecution has sought to introduce your evidence on the grounds 
that you are an acknowledged expert on the subject matter."

"Ya, but-"

"In fact, ladies and gentlemen," Rustingside directed his gaze at the 
jury. "There were 26 seasons of Doctor Why, running from November 
23rd 1963 through 6th December 1989."

"Objection."  Rank jumped up from his seat, waving his hand in the air.

"Seven different actors played the character of the Doctor throughout 
that time," Rustingside continued, undeterred.  "Mr. Stein, I wonder if 
you would tell the court what was the one thing that those seven all 
had in common?"

"Er -"  Stein looked baffled.  "- Zey all played ze part of ze Doktor?" he 
finally proposed.

"Yes, but there was something else.  Something very pertinent to the 
case against my client."  He waved the wad of papers at the old man, 
as if that might elicit the required response from him.

Stein scratched his head.

Rank returned quietly to his seat.  He had managed to get the CNN 
steadicam focused on him again, and he wanted to smooth out the 
crumple in his silk tie, before it caught the light.

"They were all *men*, Mr. Stein," said Rustingside to the court, and 
before Stein could respond, "Didn't you just say - and I quote:" 
Rustingside managed a very passable German accent, "Vell she vos 
a very sexy lady."

A sharp intake of breath went around the courtroom.

"A lady," said Rustingside, triumphantly.  "Not a man.  A woman."

"Ya, but -"

"And the character of the Doctor ... throughout all twenty six seasons 
... all one hundred fifty nine adventures ... has always been a man?"

"Ya, but -"

"And yet you testified that the character of Doctor Scully was a *copy* 
of Doctor Why."

"Ya, zat is zo, but -"

"Tell me, Mr. Stein, would you accept that there a number of 
significant differences between a man and a woman?"

"Oh, ya, definitely."  His eyes lit up, and condensation started forming 
inside the old man's spectacles.  "I mean, zat Gillian Anderso-"

Rustingside threw the papers to the floor in front of him, and glared at 
the poor old man.  "Isn't it true, Mr. Stein, that Doctor Scully cannot 
possibly be a copy of Doctor Why," he stabbed his finger towards the 
witness, "Because she is female, and Doctor Why is *male*?"  Again 
he jabbed his finger accusingly.  "And, as you've already accepted to 
the court, there are significant differences between a man and a 
woman."

Rustingside was really getting into the part now, pushing his 
wheelchair as close as he could get it to the witness box, and raising 
himself with his arms to stare straight up at Stein.  "And therefore my 
client's stories cannot possibly be a copy!

" ... Your honour, I submit that there is no case to answer."

At that moment Scully felt elated.  She was almost ready to jump right 
out of her seat and run across the court, to plant a great big kiss right 
on Neville T. Rustingside III's nose.

Hoskins tut-tutted and shook his head.  "Nice try, Mr. Rustingside," he 
said, smiling broadly, "But my teenage daughter is a great fan of the 
re-runs of that show and if my memory serves me, the Doctor was 
able to regenerate into a new body."

Rank allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.  He caught Rustingside's 
eye, and chalked up a '1' in the air with his forefinger.

Scully slumped back in her chair, the hope draining from her once 
again.  Was it all really going to end with twenty years in a Federal 
Penitentiary?  Already, she was wondering how she would survive.

And where was Mulder?  Surely he wouldn't leave her to face this 
alone?  Not after everything they'd been through.  No, she couldn't 
believe that of him.  Wouldn't believe it.

But, if only he'd just *be there*.

On the far side of the court, the Man With an Indeterminate Accent 
rolled up his copy of the Washington Post, and carefully made his way 
out of the room.  He looked very satisfied indeed.



--- --- ---



: Dana Scully's Apartment
: 3:55 pm



"It's alright," Mulder stepped in front of her, before she had a chance 
to use the polymorphic pliers, "I've got a key."

"Oh."  The Doctor regarded him with questioning expression and a 
raised eyebrow.

Carefully, Mulder turned the lock and opened the door.  The Doctor 
pushed past right past him and did a quick circuit of the room, pausing 
only to look at the Mutant Mega-Mouse bendy doll sitting on the rim of 
the empty fruit bowl.

"What are we looking for?" Mulder asked, carefully closing the door.

To Mulder, what they were doing felt wrong; like a betrayal of trust.  
But if the Doctor had a plan, it might be Scully's only hope.

The Doctor found the door to Scully's bedroom and pushed it open.  
She went straight for the closet, and swung open the door to reveal a 
rack of freshly laundered clothes.  She glanced back to Mulder, 
grinning as she kicked shut the door to the bedroom.

"Just what the Doctor ordered," he heard her say, as the door clicked 
shut.

Mulder settled down on the couch and looked at his watch.  Almost 
four pm.  They'd recess at five.  He wondered how the first day had 
gone.  Damnit, but he should have been there.  He should have.  
Whatever else happened, their partnership always came first.  It 
always had.  Always would.  Except this time was different.

Dana Scully came out of the bedroom.

"Scully!"  Mulder looked up in shock.

She had changed into one of Scully's suits, the one in a soft pastel 
shade of grey.

"*Doctor* Scully," she corrected him with a mischievous wink.  "Well?  
Will I do?"

"Do?"

"Hold it right there, Sir.  Federal Agent."  She held up her polymorphic 
pliers between both hands as if they were a gun.  The voice was 
absolutely spot on.

Mulder just stared at her, his mouth hanging open.

"Well, come on, Mulder," she said, heading for the door, "I don't want 
to miss my day in court."



--- --- ---



: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: In the Vortex



"Oh, Doctor.  Ever the ingenious little minx."  He twisted off the 
scanner control and watched the image fade to nothing.  Then he 
turned back to the large four poster bed, the one that he had just 
picked up on Earth, back in 1794.

He walked slowly over to the bed (which looked somewhat out of 
place in the console room) and gently stroked the silk sheet with his 
gloved hand.

"... And I am so looking forward to the consummation of our 
relationship, Doctor.  Finally ..."

His voice began to rise steadily in both pitch and volume.

"Our union shall be magnificent, Doctor!" he howled like a wolf.  "In 
the burning heat of our embrace, in the throes of our passions ... it 
shall be but the beginning of the journey that we shall take together ...

"Together, Doctor.  Together we shall raise ourselves above the 
worthless degenerates that populate this tiny, insignificant universe.  
Together we shall become ... GODS!

"GODS TO RULE THE ENTIRE COSMOS!"


To be continued ...


--- :S6E7: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

Scully is out of the FBI; suspended pending the outcome of a trial on 
the charge of First Degree Copyright Infringement.  And it's going 
rather badly.

Rustingside, Scully's lawyer, and winner of the 1998 Raymond Burr 
Lookalike Award, has totally failed to dent the prosecution's case.  The 
judge seems to be more interested in looking at pictures of antique 
gallows.  While the prosecutor, US Attorney Michael Rank, is in the 
pay of the devious 'Affiliation' - another bunch of conspirators without 
proper names.

And Mulder seems powerless to help his partner, unwilling to 
participate in what, he is sure, is a trap.

Only one woman can save Scully now: The Ninth Doctor. But can 
even she save Scully from twenty years in a Federal Penitentiary?  
More to the point, will she be able to escape falling into the clutches of 
the Manipulator - the depraved, sexually frustrated, psychopathic 
megalomaniac who is hell-bent on ruling the entire Cosmos with the 
Doctor as his consort until the end of eternity?

Could this be the beginning of the end for Mulder, Scully AND the 
Doctor?

Well, not yet ... because there's another seven episodes in the 
pipeline.

>>>


Episode Seven


Winston Bradwell slipped into the alley, hastily raising his copy of the 
day before's Satellite Times to cover his face.  Unfortunately that 
meant he couldn't see anything, so he trod on a fluffy white poodle 
that had been peeing up against a trash can.

The poodle, not being particularly fond of being trodden on, and 
certainly not whilst in the middle of setting out an essential territorial 
boundary, did what most dogs have a natural disposition towards 
doing.  She bit his ankle.

Bradwell yelled out in pain, dropping his magazine as he clutched his 
ankle with both hands.  The dog yapped at him, then ran off down the 
alley.

Across the street, the Doctor and Mulder came down a flight of steps 
and walked over to the blue Ford.

Bradwell pressed his back against the wall and did his very best to 
make himself invisible.  Already he was wondering how the hell Scully 
could be there, when she was sitting in a courtroom somewhere over 
on the other side of town.  But she did look gorgeous, and he felt his 
heart miss a beat, or two.

He heard the car doors slam, and came out of the alley just in time to 
see the back of the vehicle as it threaded its way west, through the 
leafy suburban street.  Bradwell pulled his cellphone out of his coat 
pocket and pushed one of the speed dial buttons.



--- --- ---


: The Affiliation Club Room
: Location unknown



The Man With an Indeterminate Accent carefully put down the 
receiver, and turned to his colleagues, a look of concern on his face.  
They were all gathered together in the smoky, dimly lit, room, each of 
them seated in one of the antique high-backed dining chairs.

The Obese Woman raised her eyebrows.  "What is it?"

"Agent Scully appears to have acquired a double," he said, sceptically.

"I find that most unlikely," coughed Emphysema Man, his mouth 
seriously obstructed by several large Havanas and a selection of 
unfiltered cigarettes.

"Nonetheless," said The Man With an Indeterminate Accent, "Bradwell 
has seen her.  Just now, leaving her apartment with agent Mulder."

"He must be mistaken," said The Obese Woman, shaking her head so 
that the folds of flab around her neck wobbled about like a stale 
peach-flavoured milk jelly.

"Bradwell is a fool," said the Extremely Tall and Stupid-Looking Man, 
his head touching the ceiling even in a sitting position.

Emphysema Man glared up at him.  "He *is* an Affiliate," he said, 
simply, puffing nicotine smoke at the other man.

"However, this does introduce a new factor into the equation," said 
The Obese Woman, shovelling a large hazelnut Hershey bar into her 
mouth.

"Indeed," the Man With an Indeterminate Accent agreed.  "However, 
like all plans, ours is flexible enough to cope.  The objectives will still 
be met.  Mulder will still bring about his own downfall - and that of his 
partner.  If anything, this new element may increase the effectiveness 
of our strategy."

"Should she be eliminated?"  Emphysema Man ripped the plastic 
wrapping off another packet of Red Band.

"No.  She may be of use."

"And if she is not?"

"Then how very unfortunate that will prove to be for her."



--- --- ---



: The Court Room
: 4:25 pm



Michael Rank carefully plucked a tiny speck of fluff off his lapel, 
holding it momentarily between his thumb and forefinger before 
flicking it away.  As inconspicuously as possible, he glanced at his 
reflection in the polished wood of the table top, and then he stood up 
to cross the court.

"Good afternoon Miss D'Arcy," he said, showing both rows of perfect 
white teeth in a very broad smile that was directed right at camera 
number three; the live feed to the Trial Channel.

Murgatroyd D'Arcy crossed her legs and nodded nervously.  Several 
tufts of mousy red hair fell into her eyes.  She brushed them away, 
then immediately looked uncomfortable about doing so.

Rank leant against the witness box.  "Now, Miss D'Arcy, you work for 
the Communications Services Procurement and Administration 
Authority of the Federal Government, is that correct?"

"No."

"What? -"  Rank looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered his 
composure and resumed the examination.  "Where *do* you work 
then, Miss D'Arcy?"

"The Communications Services Procurement and Administration 
*Agency*."

"I see."

"Only I always think that it's important to get the names of things right, 
don't you?"  She batted her eyelashes at him.  "You just can't have 
effective two-way communications without accuracy.  It's so vital."

Rustingside looked across at Scully and grinned, but she didn't feel 
like grinning back.  So far Rank had done a fantastic job of proving her 
to be the most evil criminal genius ever to have come before the 
bench.

Rank surreptitiously checked, with a slight sideways glance, to see if 
the camera was still on him.  He was a little peeved to see that the 
cameraman seemed to be lining up the lens on Miss D'Arcy's mini-
skirted thighs, instead.

Judge Isiah Hoskins yawned, and turned another page in his 
paperback book.

"Would you please tell the court exactly what your job is," Rank 
continued.

"We supply communications services to all the other Federal 
Government agencies," she replied.

"Really.  And would that include radio, telephones, fax? ..."  He stirred 
his right hand around, leaving the question open-ended.

"All of those," she said, "Plus electronic mail, digital video, carrier 
pigeon, sub-space -"

"Electronic mail."  Rank stopped her.  "And would that be via the 
Internet?"

"Sometimes through the public internet," she nodded, seemingly 
pleased to have lots of people to tell about her terribly important job. 
"But we also contract out private Wide and Metropolitan Area 
Networks."

"Which agencies use the public internet?"  Rank looked around the 
court.

"Well ... all the social welfare, taxation, law enforcement -"

"Law Enforcement?"

"Yes.  Public Internet lets them interchange data with other agencies 
throughout the world, and to host web pages for information retrieval."

"I see.  That's very interesting, Murgatroyd."  He ran a couple of 
fingers delicately through his hair, adjusting the lay of several strands 
that had fallen out of place.  "And the FBI - being a Federal law 
enforcement agency - they would use the public internet as well?"

"Of course," she said, enthusiastically.  She wondered whether Rank 
was married.  He wasn't wearing a ring, and he did look terribly well 
off.  "The FBI even allocate their agents individual accounts."

"Individual accounts," Rank repeated slowly.  "And they would be 
allocated for what purpose?"

"Well, you understand that how an agency uses the services we 
provide is entirely down to their own management -"

"Of course, but you must have an idea."

"Objection."  Rustingside raised his hand.  "Calls for speculation on 
the part of the witness."

The judge suddenly woke up.  "Ah.  Oh. ... overruled."

"But, your honour -"

"Overruled, Mr. Rustingside." the judge repeated, raising his voice 
with obvious irritation.

"Thank you, your honour."  Rank sucked up to the judge for a few 
seconds, gave a deferential tug of the forelock, then returned his 
attention to Miss D'Arcy.  "Please, go on."

"The agents use them in the pursuit of their investigations," she 
explained, "Mainly web and E-Mail access."

"I see.  And would it be normal practice - based on your 
*considerable* experience with Federal Government communications 
policy - for an agent to use a public internet account for private 
purposes?"

She shook her head vigorously.  "No, that's definitely not allowed," 
she said, gravely.  "It's considered a very serious offence."  She 
glared at Scully.

Rank looked at Scully too.  He had a very self-important sneer all over 
his face.

"So," walking slowly towards the accused, "Were an FBI Agent to use 
their agency-supplied public internet account for personal use, it 
would be considered a very serious breach of discipline?"

Scully sensed the eyes of the whole court turning on her and burning 
into her.  She felt herself going very red.

"Yes," said Murgatroyd D'Arcy, with conviction.  "*Very* serious."

Rank turned around just half a metre from where Scully was sitting, 
and started back towards the centre of the court.  "I'd now like to turn 
to the events of the ninth of this month," he said.  "Miss D'Arcy would 
you tell the court what you were doing that day."

She nodded.  "It was a Monday, so I was working of course," she 
replied.

"And did you have cause to examine the records relating to the 
utilisation of the Washington FBI Headquarters building public internet 
gateway?"

"Yes, I did."  Her voice never wavered once.  "In fact, they have two 
TCP/IP Gateways, passing sub-nets two three one one hundred and -
"

"Yes, thank you, Miss D'Arcy," Rank stopped her.  "Was this a routine 
examination?"

"Yes.  Every month we audit the line utilisation records and prepare a 
report for them."

"I see.  Every month.  And, during this perfectly routine examination, 
did you discover anything out of the ordinary?"

She took a deep breath, preparing herself, as if she had been waiting 
all her life to say what came out next.  "Yes, sir.  I noticed several very 
large text uploads to a Usenet news group.  The group was alt.tv.x-
files.creative - I remembered it because I know the Bureau policy on 
that particular show, and I thought at the time that it was very odd."

Rank nodded his head thoughtfully.  "You said large, Miss D'Arcy.  
Could you elaborate on that?"

"Six postings, each between 12 and 15 K."

"K - that's a thousand characters?"

"A thousand and twenty four," she corrected him.

"Do you know what was in those postings?"

"Well, we shouldn't really -"

"But on this occasion you felt it so *serious* a breach of procedure 
that you decided it was your duty to investigate?" Rank prompted her.

"Your honour!"  Rustingside threw up his hands in despair.  "I really 
must protest at the way in which the Council for the Prosecution is 
leading the witness."

"Yes, quite right," said Hoskins, putting down his dog-eared copy of 
Trial and Punishment Through the Ages.  "The witness will disregard 
that last question, and the statement will be stricken from the record."

Rank sighed.  "Miss D'Arcy, what was in the postings?"

"They were parts of a story," she said.  "Doctor Scully and the Last 
Bug-Eyed Monster - by Dana K. Scully."

Rank's face literally lit up.  He walked across the court room, towards 
the jury, and repeated the woman's words.  "Doctor Scully and the 
Last Bug-Eyed Monster.

"By Dana K. Scully."  He turned and stabbed his finger at Scully.  "And 
the accused's middle name, ladies and gentlemen, is Katherine.  
Dana Katherine Scully."

"Objection," said Rustingside, wearily.  "My client's name is a matter of 
record.  The Counsellor is attempting to play the role of judge and jury 
as well as prosecutor."

"Council for the Defence has a point," said the judge, firmly.  "Control 
yourself, Mr. Rank."

Rank walked back to the witness box.  "One last question, Miss 
D'Arcy.  From what account were these postings made?"

Without hesitation, she replied, "agent.dana.scully@fbi.gov.usa - I 
checked, and that account is registered to a Special Agent Dana 
Katherine Scully."

Scully lowered her head and cupped her hands over face.

"Thank you," said Rank, drawing a figure '2' in the air with his index 
finger, as he walked back past Rustingside to the prosecution table.  
"Your witness, Couns -"

"Ah, gentlemen.  It's five pm.  Court will now recess," said the judge, 
gathering up his paperback book, a small chess set, three empty 
Budweiser cans, and a Sony Walkman.  "We'll resume at nine am 
tomorrow, when the Defence will start their cross examination of Miss 
D'Arcy."



--- --- ---



: Washington State Court
: 5:12 pm



In a small room just off one of the wide corridors that criss-crossed the 
vast court building, Scully sat quietly at the table.

"Cheer up, Dana," said Rustingside.  "It's never quite as bad as you 
think."

"No," she said, gloomily.  "It's worse."

"Oh, I don't -"

"Hi, Scully!"  Mulder pushed through the door, and she felt her heart 
lift.  But it was only a momentary flash of elation, and it was soon 
replaced by anger.

"Mulder, where the hell have you been?"

Rustingside carefully pushed his wheelchair away from the table, 
making room for a confrontation, if that was what was about to 
happen.

Mulder and Scully stared at one another.

"In the wrong place," he said finally, looking down at the floor.  "Scully, 
I'm sorry."

She turned her back to him and walked over to the window.  He came 
up to her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, but he felt her 
tense at his touch, and so quickly withdrew.

Eventually she let out a long sigh and turned to him, reaching out to 
touch his wrists.  "I'm having a really bad day."

"Yeah ... Scully, I'm sorry.  Really sorry.  I should have been here."

"Did you find anything?" she asked hopefully, at the same time 
knowing that it was hopeless.

"Sort of," he grinned. "Scully, there's somebody I'd like you to meet."

They all turned around, as the woman made her theatrical entrance.

Scully stared at her, and then went quite white, her eyes widening in 
disbelief.

"Dana Scully," said Mulder, holding one hand out to Scully, and the 
other towards the Time Lord, "Meet Doctor Scully, Guardian of the 
Cosmos."


To be continued ...


--- :S6E8: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

She is on trial.

She has been suspended from the FBI.

She faces a minimum term of twenty years imprisonment in a Federal 
Penitentiary, if she is found guilty on the charge of First Degree 
Copyright Infringement.

At the end of the first traumatic day, she is close to despair.

And the last thing that Dana Scully expected to happen, was for 
Mulder to bring her face to face with the character that she has been 
writing stories about ...

Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos.

>>>

Episode Eight


: Umberto's Italian Scofferia
: 8:15 pm



Somehow they had managed to convince Rustingside of Mulder's very 
unlikely explanation for the appearance of a perfect duplicate of 
Scully, but it hadn't been easy.

"Don't you think that the story about my having been cloned several 
times over was just a little bit far-fetched, Mulder?" she asked, waving 
the fork at him in such a fashion that a strand of pasta threatened to 
come flying off into his face.

Mulder grinned.  "What, and you think he'd have bought an eight 
hundred year-old Time Lady, who travels around the universe in a 
passport photograph booth?"

The Doctor reached between them and retrieved another fragment of 
French bread from the silver dish.  "Oh, I don't know," she said, "It has 
a certain *genuineness* about it, don't you think?"

She soaked up some olive oil with the bread, and popped it into her 
mouth.

Scully found that she kept staring at the other woman.  She just 
couldn't help herself.  It was uncanny; like sitting next to a full length 
mirror.

Mulder noticed that the other guests in the secluded little restaurant 
were also casting inquisitive glances at the two.  So far, Scully's 
picture had been kept out of the papers, which was just as well, 
considering the attention that they were already receiving.

"Curious, isn't it?" said the Doctor, catching the other woman's eyes 
just as she averted them again.

Scully shook her head.  "It's ... incredible."

"Well, people do say that about me," said the Doctor, tapping her 
fingers together.  "Along with such superlatives as intelligent, 
charming, witty ... Why, Christopher Columbus even said that I was 
the se-"

"Uh, Doctor," Mulder cut in, "What about your plan?"

"What? Oh, yes."  She slapped her forehead lightly.  "The plan.  My 
memory is like a sieve these days, you know.  Ever since that last 
regeneration.  But then I was a man before that ..."

Scully raised her eyebrows and looked over at her partner.  She felt 
just a little flush of jealousy, when she saw that he was looking right at 
the Doctor, hanging on every word that she spoke.

"You said something about a plan?" said Scully, frowning at her 
partner.

"Oh, it's nothing really," she said, draining her glass of red wine and 
reaching for the bottle.  "Well, when I say nothing, I don't actually 
mean *zero* of course.  I mean, obviously it's something, otherwise it 
wouldn't be worth mentioning -"

"Doctor ..."  Scully's voice took on a strained tone.  She looked down 
at her now empty plate.

"I'll take your place," the Doctor grinned, "I'll be the one on trial."

Scully shook her head.  "No, I can't let you do that.  They're going to 
find me guilty."

"*You* yes," the Time Lord agreed, "But I'm a completely different 
kettle of fish.  After all, I am *The Doctor*."

"Mulder, this is crazy. It's like getting somebody else to take your 
driving test for you."  She wasn't at all convinced.  "It goes against 
everything we stand for.  It's not ... justice."

"And you think what they're doing to you counts as justice?"  Mulder 
tossed a used toothpick into the empty bread dish.

"I *did* write those stories."  She studied the backs of her hands 
carefully, noting the appearance of a few more lines, and wondering 
what they would look like in twenty years time.  "All that Rank has to 
do is to prove enough similarities between the Doctor Scully character 
and that of Doctor Why -"

"Doctor Why!"  The Doctor looked outraged.  "They're comparing 
*me*, the Guardian of the Cosmos, the Ninth Doctor, the President-
Elect of Gallifrey, with ... a television character?"

Mulder and Scully both looked at her with surprise.

"Pah!"  The Doctor waved her hand across the table, almost sending 
her wine glass spinning into Mulder's lap.  "Balderdash!  Twaddle!  I 
can assure you that there's only one genuine *Doctor*."

Across the restaurant, Winston Bradwell peered over the top of his 
copy of Satellite World magazine, the one with the full-colour centre 
spread about the sixth season of a series that had just moved filming 
to Los Angeles.  On the table in front of him, his cellphone was 
indicating 'Connected' in its display.  "I'm looking at them right now," 
he whispered.  "It's spooky.  They could be twins."

A small Jack Russell terrier sniffed its way across the floor from an 
adjoining table, and came around to his right foot.  It looked up at him, 
wagging its little tail, cocking its little head to one side, and staring at 
him with a pair of very hopeful eyes.

Bradwell glanced down at the dog and made a face.  The dog looked 
puzzled, and wagged its tail even faster.  Winston pulled another face, 
and made the word "Shoo", silently with his lips.  The dog bared its 
teeth and started to growl.

Seconds later, two rows of canine incisors sank into his ankle, and he 
was left with no alternative other than to yell out with pain. Inevitably, 
everyone in the restaurant looked around and stared at him.  
Sheepishly, Bradwell gathered up his magazine and cellphone, pulled 
some ten dollar bills out of his pocket and dropped them on the table.  
He limped slowly towards the door.  The dog circled behind him, 
yapping and barking until the smoked glass door closed behind him.

"Guess he didn't like the 'Chien au Gratin'," said Mulder, completely 
failing to pronounce the words in an accent that sounded anything 
even remotely like French.

"Well, it *is* an acquired taste," noted the Doctor, looking suspiciously 
at the table where the man had been sitting.

"So, anyway," Scully pushed the empty plate away from her into the 
centre of the table, and turned to her double, "What makes you think 
you'll get off?"

"Because, my dear Dana," the Doctor gave a regal wave with her right 
hand, "I've been on trial before ... And I'm getting rather good at it."



--- --- ---



: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: In the Vortex



"If only I'd known," sneered the Manipulator, lustily.  He started 
smoothing out his beard with his gloved right hand, and regarded the 
scanner with interest.  "Human and Time Lord.  And both equally as ... 
fascinating ... in their own ways."

He switched off the display, and walked around to the other side of the 
console, hastily adjusting settings and checking the status of the 
bewildering array of coloured indicator lamps.

"How will I choose between you?" he muttered.  "Perhaps I shall not.  
Perhaps I shall enjoy the best of both worlds.  Yes ... a truly fitting 
prize for the RULER of the Cosmos!

"For the one who would be GOD!"

Out of the shadows, the Man With an Indeterminate Accent stepped 
slowly into the light.

"Yes," snapped the Manipulator, without looking round, "What is it?"

"We have kept our part of the bargain," said the man.

"Indeed," the Time Lord muttered, altering some more settings on the 
console.

"The Scully woman will be found guilty, and we have forced Agent 
Mulder to intervene in an attempt to save her.  He will not, of course, 
succeed, but while he is engaged in a futile search for the evidence to 
prove his partner's innocence, we will have a free hand to-"

"I care not for your petty plots and ploys!" the Manipulator interrupted 
him.  "I care only that I will soon have the Doctor in my power."

"The Doctor?"  The Man With an Indeterminate Accent looked puzzled 
for a moment.  "Oh, you mean the clone?"

"Clone?"  The Time Lord turned around and wrinkled up his nose in 
disgust.  "You imbecile!  That is no mere biological human clone.  Do 
you not recognise the superior breeding of a Time Lady?"

"No," said the man, cautiously taking a step backwards.  "I apologise."

"You are a fool," said the Manipulator.  "I tolerate fools only so long as 
they serve a purpose useful to my own ends.  That is no longer the 
case with you and your pathetic little group."

He reached inside his black jacket and pulled out the Electrostatic Ion 
Transduction Cannon, smiling as he levelled the phallic-shaped 
weapon towards him.

"No, wait!"  The man held his hands up defensively.  "Please.  We can 
still be of use to you ..."

"What kind of accent is that anyway?" the Manipulator grinned, as he 
deliberately adjusted the weapon to its highest setting.

"Please!"

A beam of blue-white light leapt out from the nozzle of the weapon, 
encircling the man in a rapidly constricting spiral of crackling energy 
strands.  As the strands contracted around him like a powerful serpent 
crushing the life from its unfortunate victim, the Man With an 
Indeterminate Accent soon became an indeterminate number of sub-
atomic particles that very rapidly ceased to be of any consequence 
whatsoever.

Afterwards, the Manipulator looked down at the small pile of ashes 
that were left on the floor.  He kicked them into the air with his foot and 
laughed, evilly.

"Will these trivial specimens never learn?  Nobody denies the will of 
The Manipulator ...

"NOBODY!"



--- --- ---



: Downtown Washington



"I think she's very nice, Mulder," said the Doctor, hiccuping, as they 
made their way down the street towards the spot where she said she 
*thought* she'd parked the Time Ship.  Of course, this was the fifth 
street they'd tried.

"Yeah, well.  She's ... Scully," said Mulder, kicking his feet through the 
carpet of loose leaves to reveal the sidewalk beneath.  He stopped to 
look up at the full moon.  "She's special."

"Of course."  The Doctor went to stuff her hands in her pockets, and 
then she remembered that her long coat was still back at the other 
woman's apartment.  "Brave Heart, Mulder.  We'll get her out of this 
dastardly frame-up."

Mulder took a deep breath.  "I meant to ask," he said, still studying the 
cratered face of the moon, "What made you come back?  To Earth?"

They looked at one another in the shadows.  Rays of pale moonlight 
filtered through the branches of the trees that lined the street, and cast 
mottled patterns of milky-white luminance all around them.

"I thought that I might have left somebody behind," she said, 
distractedly, "... But I was wrong."

He took a step closer to her, shaking his head slowly.  "No, you 
weren't wrong ..."

As his hand touched her cheek, she reached out to pull him towards 
her.  For the very briefest fraction of a second, Mulder could have 
sworn that he felt an electrical current flow between them; a static 
charge that crossed the gap between their bodies just moments 
before contact was made.  And then his lips were on hers.

And all of time and space unfolded around them.


To be continued ...


--- :S6E9: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

With the case for the defence going badly, Doctor Scully proposes a 
plan to stand trial in Dana's place. Scully is skeptical, but the Doctor 
points out that she is a bit of an expert at standing trial.

Meanwhile, the Manipulator, in a characteristic fit of rage, kills the 
leader of the Affiliation - telling him that he no longer needs the 
services of their group.

And when last we saw Mulder and Doctor Scully, they were entwined 
in a passionate kiss, as the entire fabric of Space/Time unfolded 
around them.

>>>

Episode Nine


: Scully's Apartment
: 11:35 pm



Even as she watched the cup shatter, and the fragments of pale blue 
china explode outwards like a cloud of pollen from a shaken flower, 
she knew that she was somehow sharing in its destruction; her own 
self breaking apart in almost total empathy.

The sensation sent her stumbling backwards, reaching out blindly to 
find the first solid object to steady herself against.  Her fingers groped 
for the reassuring solidity of the freezer cabinet, but they slipped and 
skidded where they met the shiny, slightly damp, exterior.

Scully was falling, not just to the floor, there in the physical world of 
her apartment, but inside, within her consciousness, falling down a 
gyrating tunnel of blue-white light.  And snow flakes.

And fresh-cut grass.

And the billion quintillion stars and planets of the forty-two universes.

An eternity later, as she watched the cup re-make itself, shattered 
flakes of china reversing their random trajectories and reassembling 
themselves into a perfect tea cup, she knew that the Doctor was at the 
centre of her experience.  She had felt her presence, and shared in 
her consciousness.

And Dana Scully had known, for such a fleeting instant of time, what it 
truly meant to be the Guardian of the Cosmos.

As she found her balance again, Scully set down the cup on the work 
top and managed to cross the kitchen, stumbling awkwardly into a 
chair.

She took a deep breath and started to check her pulse.  Her heart was 
still pumping at an accelerated rate, but there was nothing abnormal 
about the rhythm.

Some kind of panic attack, surely?  She tried to rationalise the 
experience.  No, not like that.  Not ever like that.

Scully buried her head in her hands.

Tonight she would dream - of memories that were not her own.



--- --- ---



: Downtown Washington
: 11:36 pm



The sound of an approaching car caused them to break apart.  
Headlamps flashed across them, but the engine noise was soon lost 
again in the night.

"The ship's just over there," said the Doctor, inclining her head in the 
direction of the somewhat incongruous passport photograph booth, "If 
you'd care for a night-cap, that is.  I've got some exceptional 
Mondassian Brandy."

Mulder rubbed the base of his neck, where she had reached out so 
suddenly and pulled him to her.  The skin there still tingled, like the 
after burn of a very mild nettle, but it wasn't an altogether unpleasant 
sensation.

"You know, I've heard of people having an electric personality," he 
finally said, for want of something more profound.

"Biomorphic cellular reactance," she took his hand between hers, "Our 
body chemistries are marginally misaligned at the subatomic level."

"Oh," said Mulder, "I thought maybe that last tequila had something to 
do with it."

"It did," she said, enigmatically.

A thought suddenly dawned on him.  "You didn't!"

She shook her head, grinning endearingly.  "No, but alcohol does 
cause minute changes in your atomic resonance that help to dampen 
the reactive effect."

"Yeah?  I always wondered why I woke up with such a sore head."

"Well, if it's a sore head you want -"

From a darkened alleyway, Winston Bradwell watched, astonished, as 
they walked across the street, arm in arm, and stepped inside a 
passport photograph booth that he was certain hadn't been there ten 
minutes ago.

He started doing some mental arithmetic concerning the available 
internal space in an average sized photograph booth.  The number 
that he arrived at made him wince.

And he winced again, when he looked down to see the particularly 
ugly black bulldog rubbing itself up and down his left leg with mounting 
excitement.



--- --- ---



: The Affiliation Club Room
: Location unknown



"Where is he?"  The Obese Woman indicated the empty chair with a 
nod.

"He's taking a long break ... getting away from it all, you might say," 
said Emphysema Man, settling comfortably into his new position at the 
head of the table.  "I'll be standing in for him."

"Oh?" she started removing the shrink wrapping from another packet 
of Oreos, "Has this sudden promotion been cleared?"

He puffed a huge quantity of smoke in her direction.  "I don't need to 
clear it.  I am the next in line of succession."

The Obese Woman broke open the packet and extracted the tube of 
coal-black cookies.

"Is there a problem with that?" Emphysema Man asked.

"No."  She shook her head, and popped four Oreos into her mouth 
together.  "Not yet."

He glared at her for a while, allowing more clouds of thick grey smoke 
to waft in her direction.  She glared right back at him, crunching cookie 
after cookie between her silver capped teeth.  After a while, he had to 
light up another packet of Red Band.

"Then shall we get started?"  Emphysema Man finally ended the 
staring match by turning his attention to the Extremely Tall and Stupid 
Looking Man.  "I understand that the Montana facility is almost ready."

"Yes."  He reached into a slim brown attache case and extracted a 
large photograph.  The picture, obviously taken from the air, showed a 
sprawling industrial complex surrounded by acres of green belt.  "And 
the initial run of the product has now been distributed to all major 
cities."

"May we see it?" asked Emphysema Man.

The Obese Woman looked on with interest, as he carefully removed a 
box of confectionery from his case and set it down in front of them.

The dark blue box was decorated with a cartoon picture of a long 
queue of white rabbits, standing on their hind legs, stretching away 
into the distance.  Each rabbit wore a bow tie and a bowler hat.  The 
name "Blubbies" was etched, in a yellow sloping script, across the top 
of the box.

Emphysema Man picked up the box and studied it.  For the first time 
since she had known him, Obese Woman saw something almost 
resembling a smile forming across his face.  He looked a little bit like a 
child opening his first present from beneath the tree.  Then he 
coughed and spluttered and spat out something nasty, and just looked 
like a man dying of a terminal lung disease again.

Irritated, he handed the box to her.

"I'm told they're very addictive," the tall man said, looking a bit guilty.

"You've eaten some?"  Emphysema Man aimed a concerned stare at 
him.

"No, of course not -"

"Good. I hope that's the case," he coughed, "Otherwise you will be 
joining four hundred million very uncomfortable Americans ... the 
morning after the gorging is complete."



--- --- ---



: Washington State Court
: Tuesday, 9:05 am



Rustingside couldn't shake the impression that his client was behaving 
very strangely.  She had smiled more in the last six minutes than 
during the whole of the day before.  Right now, as he glanced in her 
direction again, she beamed back at him.  What had happened to 
build her confidence like that?  Certainly not his less than sparkling 
performance as her defence attorney, that was for sure.

He wheeled himself out onto the floor for the start of the second day.  
Murgatroyd D'Arcy looked shamelessly confident; she would not be 
easy to break.

"Good morning, Miss D'Arcy," he said, swinging the wheelchair 
around to face her. "I've just a few questions for you, so it shouldn't 
take too long."

She smiled, and re-crossed her legs.

"Now then ..." Rustingside rubbed his beard, and looked thoughtfully 
at the sheet of typed notes resting on his knees.  "Miss D'Arcy, how 
long have you worked for the Communications Services Procurement 
and Administration Agency?"

"Two years," she said, cheerfully.

"And before that, you worked for TrebleDays, is that correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"TrebleDays, the book mart chain?"

She nodded an affirmative.

"Uh, for the court, please."  Rustingside peered over the top of his 
spectacles.

"Yes," she said, with a shrug.

"And what kind of work did you do for TrebleDays?"

"I was a clerk in the buying department."

"I understand that TrebleDays sell a very wide range of material."

"Yes, but mostly fiction."

"Your Honour!"  Rank jumped out of his seat, taking the opportunity to 
get into the camera shot.  "I fail to see the relevancy of this line of 
questioning."

The judge looked up from the miniature gallows that he was 
painstakingly building out of used matchsticks, and glared at 
Rustingside.  "I have to say that I agree with the Council for the 
Prosecution."

"If the court will bear with me for a moment longer, I will demonstrate 
the relevance."  The irritation was obvious in Rustingside's voice.

"Very well, I'll allow it, but please get to the point quickly, Counsellor."

"I'm obliged," said Rustingside, and then turned his attention back to 
the young woman.  "Mostly fiction you said, Miss D'Arcy.  Would that 
include science fiction?"

"Yes.  In fact TrebleDays are one of the largest resellers in the 
science fiction category."  She couldn't believe her luck, really.  First, a 
chance to tell everyone about how interesting her current job was, and 
now she was being given the opportunity to sing the praises of her 
previous occupation.

"Do you read a lot?" he asked, after a short pause.

"Some."

"What about writing?  Ever tried your hand at that?"

"I don't get the time -"

"No?"  Rustingside delivered a perfectly gauged expression of 
surprise.  "Well, do you recognise this book, Miss D'Arcy?"  He 
whipped a paperback out from underneath the documents resting 
across his knees, and held it up for everyone to see.

"Objection!" shouted Rank.  "Council for the Defence has not formally 
introduced this as evidence."

"*Do* you recognise it?" Rustingside thrust the book under her nose.

"Mr. Rustingside!" shouted the judge.

"Do you recognise it?" Rustingside repeated, ignoring him.

"Yes," she said, softly.

"Would you read the title out to the court, please."

She hesitated, looking across to Rank for some guidance.  He shook 
his head.

"Miss D'Arcy?"

"The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent," she said, finally.

Rustingside held the book out towards the Jury.  "The Trial of a Time 
Travelling FBI Agent! - And, Miss D'Arcy, who is the author of this 
book?"

"Uh ... It's me.  Murgatroyd D'Arcy."

"Your honour, I'd like to enter this book as defence exhibit nine."

"Well, it's damn irregular, Mr. Rustingside ... Mr. Rank?"

Michael Rank was still shaking his head, as if he had just given away 
a winning hand for want of the stake money.  "No objection," he 
sighed, with reluctance.

"It is so entered," said the judge.

Rustingside turned back to Murgatroyd D'Arcy.  "If I were to request a 
court order for access to the purchasing records of TrebleDays, for the 
period that you worked there, how many copies of this book would I 
find were purchased during that time?"

"Well, I don't know exactly for sure."

"But roughly?"

"Oh - About thirty eight thousand two hundred four," she replied, 
sheepishly.

"And do you happen to know how many copies of the book 
TrebleDays actually sold in that period?"

"Uh, well one, actually."

"One."  Rustingside swung his chair towards the jury and handed the 
book to the first juror.  "Do you happen to know who bought that one 
copy, Miss D'Arcy?"  He called back over his shoulder.

"Me," she said.

The lawyer steered his chair through a sweeping arc that brought him 
back facing her again.  He leant towards her.  "Tell the court what that 
story is about, please."

"Well, it's part science fiction, part espionage thriller.  It's about an FBI 
agent, who's framed by a covert government agency to stop her from 
revealing the truth about a conspiracy to hide the evidence of secret 
time travel experiments that took place in England in the 1970s," she 
explained, proudly.

"In this story, Miss D'Arcy, how is the FBI agent framed?"

"Uh ... by cracking the password on her Internet account and sending 
false E-Mails."

The court fell silent.

"Miss D'Arcy. Isn't it true that every word of your testimony yesterday 
was a complete and utter fabrication?"  Rustingside started gearing up 
for the demolition run.

She shook her head nervously.

"Isn't it true that what you have told the court is almost word for word 
what happens to the character in your book?"

She was still shaking her head, tears now trickling down her cheeks.

"Isn't it true, Miss D'Arcy that, frustrated with the poor sales of your 
book, you sought out another means of achieving fame?  Isn't that the 
*real* truth?"

For a long moment she hesitated.  The court fell silent, their 
anticipation building.

"No!"  At last Murgatroyd D'Arcy regained her strength and 
determination.  "No.  That's not what happened.  I examined those 
records and they were real.  Miss Scully *did* post those articles.  She 
did!"

Rustingside studied her face for a few seconds, then he looked across 
to the jury.  The likelihood of breaking her now was slim, and he might 
only serve to alienate them in the process.  Better to leave the doubt 
than allow her to gain their sympathy.

"No further questions," said Rustingside with obvious reluctance.

"What!"  Doctor Scully jumped out of her seat, much to the surprise of 
Rustingside, Rank, and the judge.  "No further questions?" she started 
walking out into the court, "No further questions? !!"

"Miss Scully, sit down!" the judge ordered angrily.  "Sit down, or I will 
hold you in contempt!"

"Pah!"  She glared angrily at the mousy haired young woman, then 
spun around and stormed back to her seat.  "I bet it's not a patch on 
Doctor Scully and the Last Bug-Eyed Monster!"

"Mr. Rustingside," said the Judge, no longer showing even the 
slightest interest in his matchwood gallows set, "You will keep your 
client under control, or I will have no option other than to have her 
removed from the court."

Michael Rank smiled at the Council for the Defence, and made a '3' in 
the air with his index finger.

Rustingside looked distinctly depressed.



--- --- ---



: Scully's Apartment
: 9:21 am



"No," she said, flatly.

"But -"

"No," Scully repeated, enforcing the refusal by throwing the scarlet 
coat and scarf down at his feet.

"Look, I know they're not your colour -"

"It's not about colour, Mulder."  She turned her back on him for the 
second time in two days.  "There is no way that I am going outside this 
apartment dressed up like a circus clown!"

"But you'll be recognised," he argued, gathering up the clothing.  
"Everyone thinks the real Dana Scully is in court."

"What do you mean everyone?  Who's going to recognise me?  The 
laundry man?  The Car Wash attendant?  My God, I spend every 
waking minute in your company, getting dragged from one end of the 
country to the other.  Who do I ever get to *meet* who's going to 
recognise me?"  She turned to face him, arms folded.  "No, I know 
what you're up to Mulder, and it isn't going to work.  I am *not* getting 
involved in one of your role reversal fantasies."

"Um, pardon?"  He'd got lost somewhere back in the first sentence.

"You're trying to get me to look like *her*."

"What?"

"- So that you can play out some weird sexual fantasy."

"Uh -"

"- Well it is not going to work, Mulder, because I am not going to put 
that on."

They looked at one another.

"Not even the scarf?" he ventured.



--- --- ---



: InTechCo Corporation
: VLSI Manufacturing Facility
: Willowvale, Montana
: Tuesday, 9:32 am



"Are we ready to proceed?" asked Emphysema Man, puffing thick 
clouds of smoke over the young man's shoulder.

Oliver Handleberry pointed to the wide screen monitor, where a large 
scale digital map of North America was displayed.  The continent was 
overlaid by an almost perfect grid of black dots - each of which had a 
four digit number next to them.

"Uh-huh, the last node just came up."  His index finger hovered over 
the dot at the centre of Chicago.  It was flashing alternately red and 
black.  After a few seconds, the four zeroes next to it changed into the 
number 4101.

Emphysema Man picked up the box of Blubbies and ran his thumbnail 
down one edge of the shrink wrap.  The clear plastic film split easily, 
cleanly, and he peeled it away completely.  Folding open the lid, he 
set the box of rabbit-shaped marshmallows down on the desk.

"Which node?" he asked Handleberry.

The technician's fingers flew over the keyboard.  "112 by 46," he 
announced.

"And there are no other units of the product within the cell?"

He shook his head.

"Then do it."

Handleberry hit the F9 key, and they both turned to study the box.  
Over the space of just a few seconds, the white marshmallows started 
to swell rapidly in size, expanding like party balloons.  They grew, and 
grew, and grew.  And they kept on growing, until they occupied almost 
all of the open space on Handleberry's desktop.

Finally, the two men could not see one another through the mountain 
of grotesquely expanded marshmallow goo.

Emphysema Man looked very pleased indeed.

"We are ready," he announced, "To begin the gorging."


To be continued ...


--- :S6E10: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

The Affiliation plot draws towards its devastating conclusion, as 
millions of packets of 'Blubbies' (rabbit-shaped marshmallows capable 
of expanding their size a thousand fold, on receipt of coded signals 
from a network of secret transmitters right across the Northern United 
States) find their way onto the shelves of the shops in every major 
city.

The Manipulator is still in the shadows, manipulating; working towards 
fulfilling his ultimate ambition to become the nastiest most evil being in 
the whole Cosmos.  He's getting there: When the Man With an 
Indeterminate Accent upset him, a couple of episodes back, he 
blasted him into a cloud of sub-atomic particles!  *And* don't forget 
that he's popped back to 1794 and picked up a four poster bed, where 
he intends to act out his deviant sexual fantasies with Doctor Scully 
throughout all eternity.

In which case he's going to be really pissed off when he finds out that 
Mulder and the Doctor have spent the night together in the Time Ship 
(well, it *is* the last ever Doctor Scully adventure!).

During a Quantum Shunt, apparently brought about by the misalinged 
body chemistries of Mulder and the Doctor during their first kiss, Scully 
has been drawn into a Space/Time transcending empathic link with 
the Time Lady - but Mulder doesn't know this yet, and he's keeping 
pretty tight-lipped about his extra-temporal activities.

At least with the Doctor standing trial in Scully's place, the two FBI 
Agents are free to start investigating the plans of their enemies.

But the prosecution seem to be winning hands down, and it may be 
that even the Guardian of the Cosmos cannot escape ... The Trial of a 
Time Travelling FBI Agent.

>>>

Episode Ten



: Jack's Curio Shop
: 4109 West 98th
: Washington D.C.
: Tuesday, 10:12 am



"Whassa matter, Scully?"  Mulder was poking around in a corner of 
the now empty book room, where he had found a couple of collapsed 
cardboard packing cartons.

"It's this scarf."  She gave him a pained look.  The look that said: I'd do 
anything for you, Mulder, but why does it always turn out to be so 
damn shitty?  "It itches."

"Yeah?"  He pulled one of the flattened cartons out into the centre of 
the floor and spread it out between them.

She stepped closer, arms folded, and bent down to look at the 
stencilled logo and the lettering beneath it.

"InTechCo Corporation," Mulder read off the label, "Willowvale, 
Montana.  Now, Scully, did you see any PCs around here last time we 
called in?"

She shook her head.

"Come to think of it," he mused, "Even the till was mechanical."

"Mulder, you're not thinking -"

He pulled out his cellphone.  "That photograph was sent from here," 
he pressed one of the speed dial buttons, "Or someone wanted us to 
*think* it was sent from here."

The United Airlines ticket desk answered the call, and he made the 
necessary reservations, much to Scully's obvious distress.

"Either way," he said, putting the phone back in his pocket, "This shop 
is somehow involved.  And seeing as the owner has gone away, the 
only lead we've got -"

"- Is in Willowvale, Montana," she sighed.

They made one final examination of the empty book room, before 
leaving the shop and heading back to the parked Ford.

"Mulder."

"Scully?"

"Do I have to wear this scarf all through the flight?"



--- --- ---



: Washington State Court
: 10:17 am



Michael Rank, United States Attorney, carefully brushed back into 
place several lashes of his left eyebrow, before selecting a camera on 
which to concentrate.  Satisfied that CNN's Number Two would offer 
the best profile shots in the prevailing light, he picked up the sheaf of 
laser-printed paper and stepped out into the court.

"Mr. Caramel," he said, stepping up to the witness box, "You were the 
script editor during the twenty-sixth and final season of EBC's Doctor 
Why, is that correct?"

Anthony Caramel nodded, smartly.  "It is."

"Perhaps we could turn to that last season.  How many shows were 
there in that?"

"Four: War Zone, SpiritGlow, Evil Since the Dawn of Time, and, of 
course, the series finale: Doctor Why and The Ultimate Alien."  He 
recited each story title without hesitation.

"I see."  Rank thought about that for a moment.  "And the last ever 
adventure of the Doctor was -"

"Well, as I said: Doctor Why and The Ultimate Alien."

"Interesting title that," said Rank, off-handedly, as he carefully 
adjusted his position to remain inside the view of the CNN camera.

"Thank you," said Caramel, polishing the fingernails of his right hand 
with the fingers of his left.

"Would you like to tell the court what it was about, please."

The Doctor looked across to Rustingside, who was busy reading some 
other document, then back at Caramel.

"Certainly."  Caramel cleared his throat and turned to face the jury ...

"In Doctor Why and The Ultimate Alien, the Doctor takes his assistant, 
Maltby, back to his home town of Scunthorpe to visit his estranged 
family.  Once there, they discover that many of Maltby's old friends 
have been disappearing under mysterious circumstances.  Maltby is 
abducted by an exo-dimensional unipod, one of the time mangling 
sentient androids serving the Controller - the evil Time Lord who has 
dogged the Doctor throughout all seven of his lives.  The Doctor 
manages to rescue Maltby, but not before the Controller unleashes 
the hideous Purple Star Gerbil - a genetically engineered rodent with 
the power to warp the fabric of the universe just by waggling its 
whiskers ..."

The court listened in silence, hanging on his every word.

The Doctor's frown got deeper and deeper, with each passing 
sentence.

"... As the Star Gerbil swims up the River Thames, intent on bringing 
about the end of civilisation as we know it, the Doctor seems 
powerless to prevent the onslaught of total and utter armageddon.  At 
the last moment, the Controller offers him a trade: Surrender his last 
remaining regenerations, transfer his Time Lord essence to the 
Controller, and Earth will be spared ..."

"Pah!" muttered the Doctor, under her breath.

The judge shot her a warning glance, so she shrugged back at him, 
defiantly.

"... Reluctantly, the Doctor agrees to the Controller's terms but, at the 
last moment, just as the evil Time Lord is about to suck out all of the 
Doctor's remaining regenerations, Maltby throws himself into the heart 
of the Poly-Staso-Endomorphic Octode Confluence Engine, thereby 
destroying the equipment that has been stabilising the Controller's 
degenerating body, and instantly turning him into a pile of soggy 
cabbage.

"Saddened by the sacrifice of his young companion, Doctor Why 
heads off into the vastness of time and space, vowing to devote his 
remaining lifetimes to promoting peace and goodwill amongst all the 
beings of the universe."

The silence lasted several seconds, and then people started breathing 
again.

"Thank you, Mr. Caramel," said Rank, for once forgetting to check his 
hair before turning to the jury.

"Piffle," said the Doctor, standing up, "Utter piffle."

"Mr. Rustingside - please control your client"  The judge slung down 
his copy of 'Perfect Judgeship in Fourteen Days' and leant over the 
top of his parapet.

The lawyer looked to the Doctor, and gave her a very stern look.

The Doctor sat down again, and crossed her legs.  She glared at 
Anthony Caramel and made him feel quite uncomfortable.

"Tell me, Mr. Caramel, have you ever seen this?"  Rank handed 
Caramel the printed sheets, then turned towards the court 
stenographer.  "Let the record show that I am presenting the witness 
with prosecution exhibit one."

Caramel only had to read the first page before he started nodding in 
acknowledgement.  "Yep.  Seen it.  Not bad."

"Ahem ... Would you tell the court what that document is, please."

"Of course. It's a story called Doctor Scully and The Last Bug- Eyed 
Monster, written by Dana K. Scully, and posted in six parts to the 
alt.tv.x-files.creative and alt.drwho.creative News Groups."

"And how do you know that - the last part - I mean?"

"Because I subscribe to both groups," said Caramel, putting down the 
story on the edge of the witness box.  "There's some cracking good 
stuff out there."

"I see."  Rank began walking slowly towards the jury, careful to ensure 
that CNN number 2 could keep him in shot.  He stopped about half a 
metre from the front row of jurors, and then turned back to Caramel.  
"Have you read that story?"

"Of course."

"Hmmn.  Is there anything that strikes you about it?"

"Well, it's a bit of a rip-off of the last Doctor Why," said Caramel, 
casually.

"A rip-off."  Rank had turned to the jury again, spreading his hands 
and leaning forward on the railings.  "You mean it's a copy of that last 
Doctor Why story, The Ultimate Alien?"

"Well, that's a bit strong," said Caramel, picking up the story again and 
thumbing through it, "There's a lot of similarities there, sure.  But -"

"A lot of similarities?"  Rank was walking back towards the witness 
now.  "How many?  Ten?  Twenty?  Thirty?"

"Well ..." he continued flicking through the document, "... It's hard to 
say.  I couldn't put a number on it."

"But if you were asked to say what was different between the stories 
'Doctor Why and The Ultimate Alien' and 'Doctor Scully and The Last 
Bug-Eyed Monster' what would you say?"

"Uh - " Caramel shrugged, "I dunno, I guess one features Doctor Why, 
and the other features Doctor Scully."

"Is that the only difference?"

"Well, it's not that simple with a story like this -"

"Doesn't the Doctor Scully adventure also have a mile high super-
rodent with the power to bring about the destruction of the Earth?" 
Rank asked.

"Yes."

"And doesn't it also feature a power-mad megalomaniac Time Lord 
hell-bent on universal domination and Godhood?"

"Well ... yes."

"So, in fact, the material differences between the two stories are so 
small as to make them almost indistinguishable," Rank concluded, 
confidently.

Reluctantly, Caramel nodded his head in acknowledgement and did 
his best to avert the accusing stare of the Doctor - who was certainly 
setting out to put some proof behind the phrase: 'If looks could kill'.

"Thank you, Mr. Caramel," said Rank, looking extremely pleased with 
himself as he walked slowly back to his table.  "Your Witness, 
Counsellor," he said to Rustingside, holding up four fingers in front of 
him.



--- --- ---



: InTechCo Corporation
: VLSI Manufacturing Facility
: Willowvale, Montana
: 4:35 pm



Mulder stretched his arm out through the window of the rented car, 
and held his badge under the security guard's nose.  "Federal 
Agents," he said, sharply.  "We have a warrant from the Montana 
District Court to search these premises for terrorist materials."

Scully glanced at her partner, nervously.  Two lies in as many 
sentences.  They certainly had no such thing as a warrant, and she 
was no longer a Federal Agent.  At least not at the moment.

The guard looked through the side window, eyeing the woman 
suspiciously.  The scarlet Edwardian long coat, together with those 
banana yellow slacks didn't look like what he would have expected 
from the FBI.  Still, he'd heard that they'd relaxed their dress code a lot 
in recent years.  Ah, what the hell, he wasn't paid enough to worry.  
He reached behind him, and flipped a switch.

As the barrier rose slowly, Mulder gunned the throttle, and the rear 
tyres bit into the tarmac.

A few minutes later, they were walking into the InTechCo reception 
building.  Mulder went straight up to the pretty blonde desk clerk and 
flashed his ID.  "FBI.  We need to speak to the manager of this facility.  
It's very urgent."

The girl looked uncertain for a moment, but then she seemed to come 
to a decision, and she punched a button on the telephone switchboard 
beside her.  A youngish voice answered.

"What is it?"

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," she cooed, "But there are two FBI Agents 
here.  They're demanding to see you at once."

A pause.

"OK, send them up."

She snapped off the connection, and pointed towards the bank of 
elevators to their right.  "Eighth Floor," she explained.  "Mr. 
Handleberry's office is the second door on the right as you come out 
of the elevator."

Mulder started off in the direction that she'd indicated, with Scully 
close behind.  He stopped suddenly, and looked back at the clerk.  
Fortunately, Scully was quick enough on her feet to avoid a collision.  
"Did you say Handleberry?" Mulder enquired.

"Yes, that's right."  She looked puzzled.

"That wouldn't be Oliver Handleberry, would it?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Well, well."  He started walking again.  "You remember Oliver, 
Scully?"

She did.  Another weirdo friend of Mulder's - the one who had given 
them a map that was the property of the National Security Agency and 
had almost gotten them into one hell of a lot of trouble.

Thirty seconds later, Mulder and Scully were face to face with the 
short young man.  He still had that nervous twitch down the right side 
of his face, and those awful round spectacles.

"Hi, Mulder.  Scully."  He held out his hand and shook theirs.

"Whoa, this is quite a promotion, Oliver," said Mulder, looking around 
the plush office.  "Guess things really moved on for you after that map 
business, then?"

"Uh ... I got lucky," said Handleberry, wringing his palms together.

"Yeah, funny thing about that map," Mulder went and sat down in the 
big leather swivel chair, "Just as we were on our way back to the 
office, we got targeted by a professional assassin.  Real strange, 
doncha think?  Especially seeing as you were the only one who knew 
we were out there."

Handleberry looked stuck for words.  Scully went over and leant 
against the front of the desk, not far from where Mulder was sitting.  
This left the younger man on the wrong side of his power base, and 
he looked totally intimidated.

"I don't suppose you're into books are you, Oliver?" she said, folding 
her arms.

"Uh, books?"

"Yeah, you know.  They've got lots of pages with words printed on 
them.  You find them a lot in bookshops."

Handleberry pulled off his spectacles, breathed on one of the lenses, 
and started polishing it frantically on his T shirt.

"One book in particular," Mulder added.  "Printed with biomorphically 
coded genetic inks ..."

"Oh ... really?" said Handleberry, breathing on the other lens.

"... That tells the story of a Time Lord who travels through time and 
space in a passport photograph booth that's bigger on the inside than 
it is on the outside," Scully completed the sentence.

"I think you'll find that I'm the one you're looking for."  The Manipulator 
stepped menacingly out of the drinks cabinet, and levelled his 
Electrostatic Ion Transduction Cannon at them.

"The Manipulator!"  Mulder reached for his pistol, but a lance of white 
light shot out across the room and sent him crashing back into the far 
wall.

"Mulder!"  Scully spun around, but the Time Lord stepped quickly 
forward, and grabbed her firmly by the wrist.

"Why, Doctor.  How very nice it is to see you again!"


To be continued ....


--- :S6E11: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

The Doctor and Dana Scully have exchanged places.  While the 
Doctor stands trial for First Degree Copyright Infringement, Scully and 
Mulder have gone to Willowvale, Montana, where a manufacturing 
facility operated by the InTechCo Corporation is somehow linked to 
the now deserted curio shop - the place where they first found the 
book that appears to be at the heart of their present problems.

They soon discover that the boss of the facility is the young computer 
hacker Oliver Handleberry who, when last we saw him, was involved 
in supplying the two agents with a secret map of communications 
stations across North America.

When Mulder and Scully confront Handleberry about the book, the 
Manipulator makes his appearance ...

>>>

Episode Eleven


: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: In the Vortex



The circle of light, although appearing to be nothing more than an 
insubstantial projection, was a very effective restraint.  Every time that 
Scully tried to move, it moved in the opposite direction, for an equal 
distance and with equal force.  There was no pain associated with 
touching the force field, just a firm and completely unyielding 
resistance that, try as she might, she just could not overcome.

An idea occurred to her, and she tried crouching down to go beneath 
it.  Quick as a flash - quicker, in fact - the ring dropped down and 
blocked her movement.  It did the same thing when she tried jumping 
up in the air.

In the end, she shook her fists with frustration before letting them fall 
to her side, and resigned herself to staying exactly where she was.

At least it was an interesting place; not some murky old tenement 
building, with goo hanging off the walls, and mutated flukeworms 
crawling around the drains; or the labyrinthine corridors of a secret 
underground facility for some clandestine quasi-governmental agency.  
Not even a depressing basement office with pictures of UFOs stuck all 
over the walls.

She was a bit worried about the four poster bed, though.

It looked a little out of place amongst all of the high-tech gadgetry, and 
it certainly clashed with the roundelled milk-white walls that seemed to 
glow as if they were alive.

When the Manipulator returned, he had changed into a black silk 
kimono, and was smoking a cigarette on the end of a long-stemmed 
holder.  He had slicked back his hair and, from the odour wafting in 
her direction, had doused himself in a rather overpowering musk-like 
fragrance.

"My dear Doctor," he said, charmingly, allowing a cat-like grin to 
crease his features, cracking the foundation that he had applied so 
carefully, "May I say how ravishingly beautiful you look?"

Scully looked at him as if he'd just escaped from the Washington State 
Sanatorium.  "Sure.  If it makes you happy," she said, eventually.

He moved across to the central octagonal console and adjusted some 
controls.  The lighting in the room reduced by about fifty percent, and 
she recognised the opening sombre bars of Elgar's Cello Concerto.

He took a puff from his cigarette which, she observed, did not actually 
seem to be getting any shorter.  The Manipulator looked around the 
console room.  He seemed satisfied, and so flipped another switch.

The circle of light that had been spinning around her at waist height, 
dissolved slowly into coloured fragments and then drifted away 
completely.

Scully found that she could move again, but she chose to stay 
standing exactly where she was.

The Manipulator spent a few moments studying her.  "You must know 
that we were destined to be together, my dearest Doctor.  How could it 
be otherwise, in a universe where perfection is in such short supply?"

"Beats me," said Scully, trying to identify the nearest exit.

"With you at my side, I shall have the ultimate companion to share my 
dominion over all living things for time without end.  You shall be my 
perfect mate, Doctor.  Together we shall -"

"Uh, I think you might be in for a bit of a disappointment there, 
actually," said Scully.

"If it's your future regenerations that concern you, my sweet, then you 
should have no fear."  The Time Lord walked behind the console and 
produced a very large cylindrical black object with a thick bulbous tip.  
"This Quasi-Octomorphic Cellular Imprint Reductor can be used to 
lock the genetic patterns for your remaining lifetimes.  You can remain 
as you are today.  Forever the most beautiful example of Gallifreyan 
womanhood."

Scully took one look at the strange object.  "You've got to be kidding."

He looked rather hurt.  "But I made this especially for you, my dearest.  
So that, together, we could take our place amongst the Lords of 
Creation."

"Well, that's very flattering, but I think you might be confusing me with 
someone else."  She started backing away; very slowly, and very 
cautiously.

He put down the Reductor and came around the front of the console.  
That damned cigarette was still burning, she noted, and yet it looked 
as if it had never been lit.

"You see, I'm *a* Doctor," Scully explained. "but not *the* Doctor."

"Impossible," he said, although there was now a slight uncertainty in 
his voice.  He stepped closer to her and started looking into her eyes.  
"You have the sign," he mused, "And yet ... not."

Scully didn't know what the hell he was talking about and, truth be 
told, she didn't really care.

He staggered backwards as if he had been struck by a heavy blow.  In 
fact, he had to catch hold of one of the corner pillars of the four poster 
bed to steady himself.  "I have been tricked!  You are the human 
female.  The one called Special Agent Dana Scully."

"Well, you can call me Dana if it's easier," said Scully, apologetically. // 
If only you'll let me out of here. //

It took the Time Lord a few moments to regain his bearings but, when 
he did, that stomach-churning sneer of insincerity was all over his face 
again.

"I have prepared.  I *must* be satisfied.  It is the Time Lord way."  His 
words held an implication that Scully didn't like one tiny little bit.  But 
he hadn't finished. // Boy, does this guy love the sound of his own 
voice. //  "Then you will have to serve.  Unfortunately, your puny 
human physiology will not survive the experience, but that is of no 
matter when the survival of a superior being, such as myself, is at 
stake."



--- --- ---



: InTechCo Corporation
: Willowvale, Montana



When Mulder returned to the conscious world, he had a really shitty 
headache.  Really, really, shitty.  Much worse than when he'd woken 
up in the Time Ship that morning - and now there were no arms 
wrapped around him, no softly sleeping Doctor Scully, her body 
touching most of his, her breath tickling his ear.

Just a really, really, shitty headache.  He winced when his eyes 
opened, and the bright light flooded into his brain like a waterfall.

"Mulder!"  It was Oliver Handleberry, looking all concerned and 
anxious.

Great! thought Mulder,  Just great.

The younger man helped him to his feet.  "You alright, Mulder?"

"Actually, seeing as you asked, Oliver, no."  He staggered over to 
Handleberry's big desk and collapsed in the chair.

It took him a few moments to realise that something was missing.  
Someone.  "Where's Scully?"

"*He* took her."

"The Manipulator?"

"Is that his name?"  Handleberry looked confused.  "I thought he'd just 
escaped from somewhere.  He turned up in my office ten minutes ago 
and starting talking about how he was going to rule the universe."

"Yeah, that's the guy," said Mulder, resting his head in his hands.  
"Wait - you said he just turned up?"

"Well, you're not going to believe this, but -"

"I'll believe anything.  I'm a believing person."

Handleberry pointed to the far corner of his office.  "There was this 
whooshing and sucking sound.  Thought it sounded a bit like the white 
noise interference patterns off a fifty gig satellite downlink without 
digital noise reduction -"

"Oliver," Mulder waved his hands at the man, "Just the simple stuff."

"Oh, right."  Handleberry walked over to the corner of the room and 
stood there looking at the other man.  He used his hands to describe a 
box-shaped object.  "And then it appeared.  A drinks cabinet.  Like - 
just out of nowhere ... Then this loony in black stepped out of it!"

"His Time Ship."

"His what?"

"More commonly known as a TARDIS," Mulder explained.  Then, in 
response to Oliver's quizzical stare, "It stands for Time and Relative 
Dimensions in Space - a ship for travelling through space and time."

Handleberry looked astounded, finally only managing to utter a single 
word.  "Cool."

"Yeah."  Mulder rubbed the back of his neck.  Given a choice between 
a blast from the Manipulator's weapon, and - well, better not think 
about that right now.  "Trouble is, there's only one way we can find 
him now."

"With another TARDIS?" Handleberry proposed.

"You catch on real quick, Oliver, but the only one I know is sitting on a 
street somewhere in downtown Washington.  And the only person I 
know who can pilot it, is standing trial for copyright infringement."

"Mulder, you know, you have such an *interesting* life."  Handleberry 
looked truly awe-struck.

"Right," said Mulder.

"Uh, by the way, you found my clue then?"

"Clue?"

"The packing carton."

"Oliver, what the hell are you talking about?"

"The InTechCo box that I left in Jack's Curio Shop."  The curly-haired 
man came and sat down opposite him, putting his feet up on the other 
side of the desk.

Mulder leaned across to him, and swiped his feet away.  "Start talking, 
Oliver," he ordered, his tone of voice implying that unlimited quantities 
of great pain would be the result of non-compliance.  "Start talking, or 
the National Technology Export Board gets to hear about that little 
deal you pulled with Iraq a couple of months back."

"Mulder, you wouldn't?"

"Uh-huh - You betcha."

"You really are not a nice person to know."

Mulder reached for the phone and dialled 0.  "Switchboard?" he 
looked across at Oliver. "Would you get me The National Technology 
Export Board in Washington?"

Handleberry's hand came down on the telephone and cut off the call.  
"I'm being blackmailed," he said, "By a group known as the Affiliation."

"OK. I'm listening."  Mulder leant back in the chair, and steepled his 
hands beneath his chin.

"After that business with the map, some guy who's got a real bad 
smoking problem came to see me.  Told me that he knew I'd decoded 
the map for you, that it was NSA material, and I was facing a very long 
stretch in prison for espionage.  Mulder, honest, I told him nothing 
about you - he knew already."

"Yeah, it figures."

"But what you don't know is their plan.  Pretty soon there will be 
millions of packets of ... these ..."  He reached over the desk and 
pulled open one of his drawers.  He took out the box of Blubbies and 
placed them in front of Mulder.

"Hey, marshmallow rabbits!" said Mulder, delightedly, "I love 'em.  Not 
as good as Peeps, but -"

"All around the country, millions of boxes of Blubbies will soon be in 
every home, and every stomach, in America," he continued, 
ominously.  "But these are not just simple sweets, they're real cool.  
Genetically engineered biological constructs shipped in a dormant 
state."

Mulder picked up the box and shook it a couple of times, listening to 
the sweets rattling around inside.

"That map that you had showed the location of a grid of digital control 
transmitters, right across the northern United States."

"Control transmitters for what?" Mulder asked, looking at the box of 
Blubbies, and fearing that he already knew the answer.

"When that control grid is activated," Handleberry continued, "the 
microchips embedded in those sweets will send a modulated electrical 
pulse through the genetic residue that they contain, causing them to 
grow rapidly and to become marshmallow automatons that will absorb 
the host body completely!"

"Jeez.  Just as well I gave up on excess sugar then."

"The microchip is one of our new 80986's - we designed them for the 
space program - they are *incredibly* resilient."

"Resilient enough to survive concentrated digestive enzymes?" Mulder 
asked.

"Yep, and because the chip will remain intact, it can be used to control 
the resulting slaves to do the Affiliation's bidding," he continued, 
almost enthusiastically.  "Mulder, they plan to create an army of these 
things to control the whole country.

"First America, then the world!"

Mulder took a few moments to digest what the young man had said.  It 
was almost too horrible to contemplate.  What deranged minds could 
possibly conceive of such a hideously evil plan?

"OK, Oliver, how do we destroy this control grid?"

"That's easy.  We take out the master CPUs.  The grid itself is just a 
load of transmitters - it's the information that they send that's 
important.  Only one problem, Mulder."

"Just one?"  The FBI Agent grinned.

"The primary control is here in this facility, but it wouldn't do any good 
destroying that, not while the duplicate failover site remains intact."

"Where?"

"It's in Blue Ridge, Colorado, along with the Deep Ground Chemical 
Weapons Store.  They didn't want to take any chances."

"Blue Ridge is a DoD site, right?"

"Yeah."  Handleberry smiled.  "Yeah, OK, Mulder.  I can crack it."

"Knew I could count on you, Oliver.  Now, all we need to do is find that 
book."

"Why is it so important?"

"Because it may be the only proof that we have that something was 
responsible for Scully's strange behaviour," he explained.  Then 
something struck him.  "Hey, wait a minute - you know about the 
book?"

He nodded.  "That was why I had to send you the photo.  To get you 
both out of the office, so that the Affiliation could get hold of it.  They 
wanted that book *real* bad."

"It was you.  You sent that damn picture to Skinner?"

He nodded again.  "Had to be him, Mulder," he explained, in response 
to the other man's unasked question.  "Other ... parties ... regularly 
intercept your mail.  We couldn't be sure you'd get it."

"No shit?  So that's what happened to the last three copies of my 
educational video catalogue."  He pushed the box of Blubbies away 
from him, into the centre of the desk.  "Oliver, do you know where the 
book is now?"

"Well, by a strange coincidence, it's -"

"- In Blue Ridge, Colorado," Mulder completed the sentence for him.  
"Well, what are we waiting for?"



--- --- ---



: Washington State Court
: Tuesday, 1:10 pm - Over three hours earlier



The court was in recess. In the small interview room, just off the main 
corridor, Rustingside was looking at (Doctor) Scully, and the 
expression on his face was very serious indeed.

"Dana, I really think that testifying is a very bad idea indeed," he 
repeated his position for the third time.

The Doctor tapped her fingers together, irritatedly.  "I don't mean to 
speak out of turn," she began, with an inflexion that implied she 
intended to do exactly that, "But, where I come from, it's considered 
impolite for the accused to be told not to testify.  You know, it's just 
another one of those quaint little customs that we have."

"Where you come fr-"  He looked confused.

"So, if it's all the same with you, Rustingside old chap, I'll be having 
my day in court.  In fact, I'm quite looking forward to it."

He stared at her over the top of his glasses.  "Miss Scully, I'm afraid 
that I can't let you do that."

She raised an eyebrow, and was about to say something.  Instead, 
she waited to see what he was going to do next.  Whatever it was, it 
was probably going to be interesting.

And, indeed, it was.  The lawyer reached inside his leather attache 
case, and pulled out a red aerosol can.  She noticed the picture on the 
side of the container: a bug, being squashed by a very big foot, and 
not looking altogether happy about it.

"Do you remember the last one of these that you saw?" asked 
Rustingside, removing the cap.  "It was blue, wasn't it?"

The Doctor, not knowing what the man was talking about, reached 
carefully inside her pocket for her pair of polymorphic pliers.  Finding 
only empty space there, she realised that she had left her coat back at 
Scully's apartment, and groaned inwardly at her own stupidity.

Rustingside was still babbling.  "... Well this one contains the catalyst 
that will activate the lethal poison that is already present in your body 
..."

He pressed down on the nozzle, and sent a jet of purple smoke right 
into the Doctor's face.

Almost at once she started coughing and choking on the pungent 
fumes, and then the whole world began to collapse in upon her.


To be continued ...


--- :S6E12: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

With the trial for First Degree Copyright Infringement against her going 
very badly, Scully has reluctantly agreed to the Doctor taking her 
place in the witness box, so that she and Mulder can search for the 
evidence that they need to clear her name.

As the case for the prosecution draws to a close, the Affiliation, a 
covert organisation acting against the interests of just about everyone 
on the face of the planet except themselves, are preparing to execute 
their dastardly plan - to unleash millions of genetically engineered 
marshmallow rabbits throughout the United States.

The Manipulator, still seeking nomination for this year's 'The Most 
Incredibly Nastiest Person in all of the Forty Two Universes' award, 
has abducted Scully and taken her back to his Time Ship, thinking that 
she is the Doctor.

After listening to his ranting and raving for just long enough to 
convince herself that he really is the total and utter sicko that everyone 
says he is, Scully breaks the bad news to him.  She is *not* the 
Doctor.

Undeterred, he still intends to satisfy his unnatural urges - even if that 
means she will not survive the experience!

Oliver Handleberry, the computer hacker working for the immensely 
wealthy InTechCo Corporation, reveals to Mulder that he has been 
blackmailed by the Affiliation into entrapping the two FBI agents.  
Trying to make amends, he reveals their plans to Mulder, and agrees 
to help him prevent the success of their fiendish plot to rule the world.

And, as if all of that wasn't enough, Rustingside has just exposed the 
Doctor to a lethal chemical spray - to stop her from testifying in her 
own defence!

Is there no end to the deception, double dealing, and all those 
thoroughly nasty people engaged in doing thoroughly nasty things?

Probably, but not for another three episodes yet ...

>>>

Episode Twelve



: Washington State Court
: Tuesday, 1:15 pm



"Sorry to disappoint you, Rustingside old chap, but I'm not exactly who 
you think I am."  The Doctor waved the thick cloud of purple fumes 
away from her face, and beamed her best ever smile in his direction.

Rustingside scowled first at her, then at the seemingly useless red 
aerosol can that he was holding in his hand.

"Now if I had *really* been Scully, you might have had more success," 
she said, jovially, "But then you would have made *me* very angry 
indeed."  She leant towards him, staring coldly into his eyes, "And, 
believe me, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

He jerked his wheelchair away from the table, frantically clawing under 
his left armpit for the holstered pistol.  Just as the Doctor rose from the 
table, he managed to get the massive weapon free, pulling back the 
bolt as he brought it to bear on her.

She froze.

"Now look, old chap.  There's really no need for -"

"I am not ... programmed ... for this scenario ..." he muttered, 
brandishing the .577 calibre 'Elephant Stopper' Magnum in her 
general direction, but not looking at all as if he were fully in control of 
himself.

The Doctor took a careful step to one side of the table, opening her 
palms towards him.

"Not operating ... within established design parameters ..." Rustingside 
continued, his head bobbing up and down, and his eyelids flickering 
like someone in the throes of an epileptic fit.

She noticed the white foaming substance that was seeping out of the 
corners of his mouth, and took another step towards him.

"Put down the gun, there's a good fellow," she cooed.

For a fraction of a second it seemed as if he might comply, and he 
started to lower the weapon into his lap, but then his eyes went wide 
and he pointed the gun straight at her.  His voice slipped into a 
monotonous staccato drawl.  "No ... You are the Doctor ... You are the 
enemy of The Automatons ... You - will - be - ERA-DI-CATED!"

A look of horror came over her face, as Rustingside started spinning 
his wheelchair around, waving the huge gun in all directions.  As he 
spun around faster and faster, more of the white goo started flying out 
of his mouth, splattering the floor, the walls, the ceiling, and only just 
avoiding her suit, which was ever so fortunate.

"ERADICATE - ERADICATE ... *ERA-DI-CATE* !!!"  His wild spinning 
and gyrating came to a sudden halt, and he aimed the wheelchair 
straight at her, gun held out in front of him.  With a furious push from 
his left arm, he propelled himself at her.

"Was it something I said?"  Smartly, she stepped to one side, and 
Rustingside hurtled straight into the opposite wall with a resounding 
crash.

White foaming goo was everywhere now; coming out of Rustingside's 
mouth, nose, eyes, ears, and ... well, everywhere.  Frantically, the 
non-human creature struggled to get its wheelchair upright again.

"You ought to take it easy, you know," said the Doctor, heading 
towards the door, "All that stress is not good for a man of your age."

"Aaaargh!"  The thing went absolutely wild, tearing itself from the 
wheelchair and launching itself across the floor.  It left its legs right 
behind it, torn off at the thighs, and leaking copious quantities of white 
sticky goo.

"Oh, sorry, did I say *man*?" she said, with disdain.  "Of course I 
meant to say, artificially animated mound of sticky goo."

It continued its frantic struggle towards her, its arms flailing uselessly 
either side of it, white residue bubbling out of the rips that were 
appearing in its suit, as its body started to swell and bulge out in all 
sorts of strange places.

"Tch, tch."  The Doctor waggled her finger at the thing as it crawled 
towards her, slipping and sliding in the sticky mess.  "Temper, temper.  
And you know it'll just end in tears."

With an almost casual disregard, she snatched the fire extinguisher 
from the wall, and aimed the hose at the struggling remnants of the 
Rustingside construct.  She twisted the valve fully open.

"As a good friend of mine might say: You ought to chill out a little."  
She directed the powerful jet of freezing carbon dioxide gas at what 
was left of the Automaton, stepping over the gibbering remnants to 
plant one final blast - right at what used to be the thing's head.

And then it stopped moving.

When she was sure that the Automaton posed no further threat, she 
put down the fire extinguisher and started prodding about in the thing's 
remains with a pen.  In the centre of the slightly frozen gooey mass, 
that was now not dissimilar to a block of ice cream that had melted 
and then re-frozen, she found a tiny computer chip.

"Curious," she said, holding the chip up to the light.  Squinting with her 
right eye, she could just make out some microscopic lettering on the 
edge of the square wafer:-

InTechCo 80986/1800

With a shrug, she dropped the tiny chip into the top pocket of her 
jacket, and went to the door.  Before she stepped outside, she took 
one last look at the mess that she'd left behind.

"Dreadful things," she muttered to herself, as she closed the door.  
"Give me a good old fashioned Dalek any day."  She started walking 
back to the court room, still talking to herself.  "At least you know 
where you are with a Dalek ..."



--- --- ---



: Department of Defense
: Maximum Toxicity Chemical Weapons Deep Ground Store
: Blue Ridge, Colorado



"Agent Mulder, I don't care if you're the freaking second coming of 
Christ, you're not getting on my base."  He slung Mulder's badge back 
at him.

Handleberry looked on nervously.

"And who's this asshole?"  The Colonel indicated the short curly-
haired man, who looked to him as if he had just stepped out of a bad 
Disney movie.

"Uh, Oliver Handleberry," he said, holding out his hand.

"Oh, Jeez.  What are you supposed to be, kid?  Some kinda freakin' 
computer genius or something?"

"Well, er, actually -"

The colonel turned his back on them and started walking back towards 
the guard post.  "I just dunno ..." he muttered. "... I really don't."

"Colonel Trago," Mulder called after him, "Have you taken delivery of 
any *books* recently?"

Trago stopped dead in his tracks.  He turned around slowly and 
regarded Mulder with an icy stare.

"What did you say, boy?"

"Books, sir," said Mulder, picking his ID up off the ground and 
returning it to his pocket, "As in biomorphically coded genetic ink; 
printed with."

The colonel walked slowly back towards him, looking down at his feet 
as he went.  When he reached Mulder, he looked him straight in the 
eye.  "Now you listen to me, Agent Mulder.  Anything that you may 
have heard, or *think* you've heard on that subject, would be best not 
discussed outside the confines of a secure facility.  So if you and lover 
boy here are planning on having a holiday this year, now might be a 
good time to take it - while you still both have legs!"

"Sorry, but I used all my vacation allowance already," said Mulder, a 
grin creasing his face.

Trago clapped his hands behind his back, and rocked his 
considerable frame back and forth on his heels.  "Agent Mulder, do 
you know what would be real clever of you right now?"

"Clinch a date with Teri Hatcher?"

"Nah, she's easy," Trago shrugged.  "No, what would be *real* clever, 
would be for you two *boys* to run along back to Washington and bury 
your sweet little heads in a nice big pile of bureaucratic bullshit for the 
next five years.  In other words - get the freaking hell off my land!"

Mulder kept on grinning, knowing how much he was irritating the man, 
and wondering why it was that he got so much enjoyment from 
winding up this kind of person.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir," he said.  "I believe that you have an 
object on this base that is of non-terrestrial origin; a book with the 
power to warp human personality.  I also have reason to believe that 
this base is being used to support a plan by a covert organisation 
seeking to take control of the United States of America."

Handleberry was looking very worried now.  'No shit, Mulder,' he 
thought, 'just go right ahead and tell it like it is.  I was getting tired of 
living anyway.'

Trago pulled out his gun and levelled it at the FBI agent.  "You're 
gonna be one hell of a sorry sonofabitch for coming here," he growled.  
"Sergeant," he called back to the gatehouse, "These men are under 
military arrest."



--- --- ---



: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: Somewhere outside of what we know as the physical universe



He had laid out a number of pieces of lacy lingerie on the bed and 
now he swept his hand across the selection, indicating that she should 
choose.

"Not a chance," said Scully, folding her arms across her chest.

The Manipulator looked disappointed.  He puffed on his cigarette.  
"Oh, but it does so add to the mood, don't you think?  And it is such a 
small thing that I ask.  Humour me."

She shook her head.  "Look, I don't know when you last sat down with 
your analyst, but -"

"Enough prattling, woman," he snapped, "I am the Manipulator.  You 
will do as I bid, or suffer such torment as your puny mind cannot even 
begin to comprehend!"

"- I happen to know a very good one who specialises in this sort of 
paranoid schizophrenic psycho-sexual delusion."  Scully was 
undeterred.  She kept talking, all the while edging away from him as 
casually as she could manage.

"You presume to give advice to ME?"  He was furious.  "You forget, I 
am the superior being here.  I am the one destined for Godhood.  I am 
the one who shall RULE the COSMOS!"

"Right," said Scully.  "Well, it was just a thought."

"Enough talk.  I must satisfy my urge.  I can wait no longer."  He 
started to untie the cord around his waist that was holding his kimono 
together.

"Uh, well - Wait!  Stop!"  She held up her hand.  "I need to use the 
bathroom first."

"WHAT? !!"

"You know - I *have* to use the bathroom."

"Grrrrr!"  He threw his hands up in despair.  "Very well. It's that way."  
He indicated the door to the left of the console.

Scully didn't need telling twice.  She slipped quickly past him.

"Third door on the right," he called after her. "Next to the fish tank.  
But I warn you, woman, do not trifle with me.  I am the-"

"-Manipulator.  Right.  You said," Scully muttered to herself, as she 
slipped through the door, "And if your dick's as big as your ego then 
you're gonna make some woman very happy."  She found the third 
door.  It had a sign on it; a small silhouette of a woman with a scarf 
around her neck.  "... But somebody really ought to tell you that size 
isn't everything."

She locked the door behind her.  "Mulder," she said to herself, "When 
I get out of this - and I *will* get out of this - you and me are going to 
do some *serious* talking about what's in our respective job 
descriptions."

"Coo-ee, my sweet!"  It was the Manipulator; outside the door already.  
"Are you ready for me yet?"



--- --- ---



: The Court Room



Judge Isiah Hoskins was completely engrossed in a large format 
glossy magazine.  A somewhat garish picture of a hooded hangman 
holding a large scythe, decorated the front cover.

"Ahem."  The Doctor cleared her throat, and walked into the centre of 
the court.  "Your Judgeship?" she ventured.

Hoskins looked up.  "What?  Oh - Miss Scully ..."  He looked past her 
to the empty defence table.  "... Where is your council?"

"Mr. Rustingside found himself with a bit of a sticky problem on his 
hands," she explained, with a knowing grin.  "I have decided to 
represent myself for the remainder of the trial."

Hoskins peered over the top of the parapet at her, then he shook his 
head with resignation.  He returned his attention to the magazine, 
which the Doctor could now see was that month's issue of Hang 'em 
High - The East Coast Collectors Edition.  "Very well, Miss Scully.  Get 
on with it."

"Thank you, Your Supreme Eminence."  She gave a deferential bow 
and took one step backwards.

"Your honour, this is most irregular."  Rank jumped up and started 
shaking his papers at the Doctor.

"Is it really?" said Hoskins, sounding disinterested.  He looked up 
anyway.  "Miss Scully is entitled to select the representation that she 
feels will best serve her defence.  If she chooses to defend herself, 
then this court will respect and support that choice.  Is that clear 
enough for you, Counsellor?"

Rank looked very peeved.  "Perfectly, your honour."  He sat down 
again, his face like thunder.

"I am obliged, Your Mightiness."  She waited in front of him for a 
moment.

He looked up again.  "Yes, what is it, Miss Scully?"

"If I might crave the indulgence of the court for just a few short 
moments?"

He looked at his watch.  "Very well, but please make it quick.  The 
Legal Show Channel are starting their Perry Mason re-runs at five 
fifteen."

"Your Superiorness."  She tugged at an imaginary forelock, bowing 
slightly before turning to face the court and slapping her hands 
together.

"Now that the Council for the Prosecution have concluded their 
pathetic and feeble attempts to drum up a case against me," she 
began, to a howl of protest from Rank, who was issuing the word 
"Objection" like bullets from a machine gun, "It's time to get this trial 
back onto a proper footing.

"I now intend to prove that Dana Scully could not possibly be guilty of 
copyright infringement."  She waited for a reaction.  Rank was 
bouncing up and down, trying to get himself into the shot, but all eyes 
were on her.  The judge seemed to have fallen asleep.  "She cannot 
be guilty because the original copyright is, in fact, totally and utterly 
invalid!"

"Objection!" Rank yelled, helplessly.

"I will prove to you that Doctor Why is nothing more than a shallowly 
disguised caricature of the *real* Doctor Scully, the Guardian of the 
Cosmos, and that the English Broadcasting Corporation have 
unlawfully produced a television series based entirely upon her 
adventures, without once ever seeking her permission."

"Objection!"  Rank was starting to lose his voice.

"I can prove this to you today, ladies and gentlemen," she smiled, did 
a twirl, and opened her palms towards them, "because I *am* the 
Doctor."


To be continued ...


--- :S6E13: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

The Doctor, who has taken Scully's place as the accused, in the trial 
against her for First Degree Copyright Infringement, has exposed 
Rustingside as one of the Affiliation's Automatons.

Now she is now opening the case for the defence.

Scully, meanwhile, is more concerned about escaping from the 
lecherous clutches of the Manipulator.

And the Affiliation plan to activate their Biological Constructs, which 
have been distributed as rabbit-shaped marshmallows, known as 
Blubbies, throughout the United States of America.

It seems that only Mulder, aided by the young computer hacker, Oliver 
Handleberry, can save the entire world from total domination.

>>>

Episode Thirteen



"You know, Mulder, when you suggested that we break into the 
complex, liberate the book, and destroy the CPU - it didn't occur to me 
that you might be completely and totally out of your tree," said 
Handleberry, looking very depressed.  "I mean ... I thought you, sorta, 
might have had a plan, or something.

Mulder leant back in the wooden chair, with his hands behind his 
head.  He put his feet up on the small table.

"But, oh no," Handleberry continued, "You just stroll on up to the main 
gate, bold as brass, and say 'Federal Agent' like it's the words to get 
the genie outta the lamp."

"It usually works," said Mulder, looking up at the ceiling.  "How was I 
to know that they'd got 'Colonel Bigot' in charge down here?"

"And then," said Handleberry, trying to clean his spectacles on the 
dirty material of his T shirt, "You have to start antagonising the man.  
You can't just be Mr. Nice Guy G-Man - oh, no ..."

"Oliver."

"What?"

"Shut up.  I'm thinking."

"Well think about this, Mulder.  We are in deep shit!"

Suddenly, Mulder rocked the chair forwards and got to his feet.  He 
went over to the heavy steel door and started examining a conduit that 
ran down the side of it.  A spur off the conduit went out to the right, 
and connected with the locking plate of the door.

"Oliver," he called back, "What does this look like to you?"

"Thirty years in the Federal Pen," Oliver grumbled.

Mulder reached out, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and 
positioned him by the door.  He stabbed his finger at the lock.  "That!  
What does *that* look like to you?"

He put his glasses back on and peered at the conduit.  "Data cable 
ducting.  Probably multi-core twisted pair.  Could be FDDI, though."

"Yeah, without the datacomms lecture, please.  It's controlling the 
lock, right?"

Oliver took a closer look.  "Probably."

"Can you hack it?"

Oliver started looking about his person.  He looked in his pockets, 
checked behind his ears, even peeked down the front of his trousers, 
then he shook his head.  "Gee, Mulder, I seem to have left my 
portable Secret Government Base Escape Kit behind today."

The FBI Agent frowned.  "You know your trouble, Oliver? You just got 
no imagination."

Before the debate could go any further, they heard footsteps on the 
other side of the door.  Both men took a couple of paces back, away 
from the heavy steel panel.  Seconds later, it swung open.

Colonel Trago stepped inside, a plastic package in his right hand.  He 
made a signal to the guard outside, and the door closed behind him 
with a loud thud.

Mulder looked at the package with interest.  Although the plastic 
coating was nearly opaque, there was clearly a leather-bound book 
inside.

"Was this what you were looking for, agent Mulder?" asked Trago, 
handing him the shrink-wrapped book.

He took the package from the Colonel and gave it a closer look.  "Why 
are you doing this, Colonel?"

"I want you off my base, Mulder," said Trago, with a grimace.

The agent looked at him with suspicion.

"Hell, I been dealin' with the spooks all my life.  Always thought I was 
helping my country.  Then this guy with the cigarettes hanging out of 
his mouth turns up.  Starts throwing his weight around, giving me 
orders that don't make a whole lotta sense.  Like that damned book.  
Shit, Mulder, I'm getting far too old for this."

Mulder's immediate assessment was that the man was lying.  This 
had to be another Affiliation trap.  It had to be.

"What will he do when he finds you've given it to me?"

"I'm kinda hoping that you'll get to him first."

Handleberry and Mulder exchanged a quick glance.  "I'll ... do what I 
can," Mulder said, finally.

"Good."  Trago turned to the door.  "Now get the fuck off my base, and 
don't even think about coming within a hundred miles of here any time 
in the next twenty years or so."

"Uh, Colonel, one last thing," Mulder was reluctant to press his luck, 
but he was running out of options, "This base is for the storage of 
decommissioned chemical weapons, right?"

"Yeah.  You know that."

"Do you have any other ... facilities ... here?"

"Mulder, you just don't know when to quit do you?"  Trago rapped on 
the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder.  "We've got a 
small lab here, leased out to InTechCo.  They use it for some special 
particle physics stuff - something to do with being so far underground."

"Could we see it?"

The door opened.

"No freaking way," said Trago.

"Excuse me, Colonel."  It was Handleberry, putting on his most 
authoritative accent, which was not very authoritative at all, as it 
happened.

"What is it, boy?"

Handleberry reached into his pocket and produced a scruffy business 
card.  He handed it to Trago, who studied it carefully.

"VLSI Fabrication Manager," he read out loud, rubbing his thumb over 
the embossed 'i' surrounded by a circle of computer chips, perhaps 
hoping that the logo would rub off, thereby proving it to be a fake.

"I think I might be allowed to see inside one of my own facilities, don't 
you?" said Oliver.

Mulder shot him an admiring glance.  The kid was learning.

Trago gave him the card back, just as the door was opening, and 
shrugged.  "... And then you get the fuck off my base!"



--- --- ---



: The Affiliation Club Room
: Location unknown



Emphysema Man looked very unhappy.  Very, very, unhappy.

Obese Woman looked at him accusingly, a half-eaten peanut Hershey 
bar slowly melting in her right hand.

"This would not have happened if *he* was still controlling the 
operation," she said.

Emphysema Man coughed and spluttered, and popped another 
havana into his mouth, alongside the smouldering cigarettes already 
there.

"Well he is not.  I am."

"But *are* you controlling?" she asked, waddling a step closer to 
where he stood, staring out over the river.

He spun around to meet her accusation.  "I was supposed to foresee 
that a perfect duplicate of agent Scully would just appear out of thin 
air?"

She stared at him, unforgivingly.

"And how was I to know that fool Handleberry would turn?" he 
continued.

"He is a friend of Agent Mulder," she observed.  "He has strong 
friends.  *He* is strong."

"Yes."  Emphysema Man looked back out of the window.

"How do you propose that we proceed now?"

He puffed smoke in her face.  "We issue the activate signal, before 
Mulder succeeds in neutralising our capability," he rasped.  "We 
initiate the gorging!"



--- --- ---



: The Court Room
: Washington D.C.
: Wednesday, 9:05 am



"Regardez le Bateau du Temps," she said with a flourish, indicating 
the passport photograph booth that was now standing in the centre of 
the courtroom.  "The Time Ship.  My TARDIS."

"Your honour," said Rank, tiredly.  "What is this fiascolic display 
intended to prove?"

Hoskins looked puzzled as well.  "I concur with the Council for the 
Prosecution, Miss Scully.  Please explain this."

"Certainly, Your Supreme Wisdomness."  She stepped towards the 
booth.  "This innocent looking passport photograph booth is, in fact, a 
TARDIS.  A vessel that operates across transdimensional planes of 
existence, thereby allowing me to travel anywhere in all of time and 
space at the touch of a button ... Well, several buttons, to be 
accurate."

"Objection, your honour.  What relevance is this meaningless 
technobabble?"

"- So that I can do battle with evil wherever it might surface," the 
Doctor continued.  "So that I can fulfil my role - as the Guardian of the 
Cosmos."

She looked up to the judge.  "If you will allow me one small 
concession, Your Great and Wise Judgeness?" she grinned.

Hoskins never could resist a pretty smile, it had almost got him 
disbarred a while back - but that was another story.

"What did you have in mind, Miss Scully?" he sighed.

"I would like to demonstrate to the court that I am, indeed, the Doctor.  
If we could all just step inside the Time Ship for a short while, I believe 
that I'll be able to prove that assertion ... And it'll be jolly good fun as 
well."

"What, inside there?"  Rank waved his hand dismissively at the booth.  
"Are you out of your mind?"

"I'll allow it," said the judge, sighing again.

"Oh, cracking good show," the Doctor beamed.  "Do you know, I think 
you're all going to enjoy this."  She looked to Michael Rank, who was 
still shaking his head, his hands planted firmly on his hips.  "Well, 
come along, Mr. Rank, there's nothing to be scared of."



--- --- ---



: The Doctor's Time Ship
: Outside of Real Space



"My God," said Rank, slowly, as he stepped into the huge expanse of 
the main console room.

The Doctor was glad that she'd adjusted the Architectural 
Configuration Circuits beforehand; it had made the console room a full 
eight times bigger than normal.  It never hurt to play safe.

"Et voila," said the Doctor, casting her hand around the bright white 
room.  "And, as Dana Scully said in *her* stories - the only 
*authorised* ones, I might add - it really is -"

"- Bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," the judge completed 
her sentence for her.  He stepped up beside Rank, his mouth hanging 
open with complete bewilderment.  "No wonder my daughter likes this 
show so much," he muttered.

One by one, the twelve jurors filed into the TARDIS, each and every 
one of them staring around with expressions of complete disbelief.

The Doctor walked up to the console and started throwing switches.  
"Now then, I believe the subject matter was: Doctor Scully and The 
Last Bug-Eyed Monster?"  She glanced at Rank.

"Um, yes," he said, his mouth still hanging open.

She pointed to the holographically projected image that was 
materialising over the console.  As they watched, the image solidified 
in all three dimensions.

A huge, rat-like, creature was swimming right up the River Thames, 
straight towards the Houses of Parliament.

"You'll notice," she said, with a smile, "That there are no blue screen 
fuzzy edges around the Purple Star Gerbil.  No tell-tale CSO green 
tints.  That's because it's a real Purple Star Gerbil!"

"She's right," said Caramel, who had somehow managed to join them 
along with some others from the public gallery.  "That's not our show.  
We never had the budget for effects like that."

The judge and Rank both looked back towards Caramel, then 
returned their gaze to the screen.

"And here," she said, with undisguised pride, "Is the star of the show.  
*Me*"

They watched, breathless, as the Doctor confronted an evil man in a 
dark suit ...

"You have lost, Doctor," grinned the Manipulator.  "Even now, the 
Purple Star Gerbil prepares to unleash the time winds, and soon it will 
destroy this pathetic world once and for all."

"You fiend!"  The Doctor glared at him.  Her young schoolboy 
companion huddled at her side, frantically chewing on a stick of 
liquorice.

"Oh, but you can save them all, Doctor," he said, taking a step closer 
to her.  "All you have to do is to surrender your remaining 
regenerations to me.  Give them to me willingly, and I shall send the 
Purple Star Gerbil back from whence it came."

"Never!"  She shook her head defiantly, but out of the window of the 
deserted warehouse, where the Manipulator had set up his base, the 
massive creature was raising itself up out of the water, strands of exo-
temporal energy crackling all around it.  Soon it would be too late.

"Never?" he enquired.  "My dear Doctor, would you really sentence 
this world to total and utter annihilation?"

"I -"

Suddenly, Billy Mulder ran between them, just avoiding the 
Manipulator's grip by a fraction of an inch.

"No, Billy, don't!" cried The Doctor.

"You young imbecile!"  The Manipulator spun around to try and catch 
the boy.  "You don't know what you're doing!  No, don't touch that!"

Billy Mulder pulled a really big handful of sherbet out of the brown 
paper bag, and forced it down the oval orifice of the strange machine.

"Get down!" cried the Doctor.  "It's going to blow!"

... On the screen, they saw the imposing form of the Purple Star Gerbil 
shimmer, then collapse into a huge pile of strawberry sherbet which 
was then blown away by the wind.

The Doctor switched the scanner off.

"I'm afraid it's not quite as dramatic as your version," she said, to 
Caramel, who was smiling, "But then *real* life seldom ever is."

She held her hand out to the judge, who, somewhat bemused, shook 
it.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor.  Bit late on the introductions front, I know, but 
better late than never."  She grinned again, then assumed a more 
formal and serious expression.  "Your Extremely Knowledgeable and 
Wisdomful Honour, I respectfully submit that my very good friend 
Dana Katherine Scully has no case to answer."



--- --- ---



: InTechCo Corporation
: VLSI Manufacturing Facility
: Willowvale, Montana



When Handleberry arrived back at his office he was feeling rather 
pleased with himself.  He felt as if he had really redeemed his honour 
by deactivating the Colorado CPU.  And the best thing was that they 
wouldn't know that he'd re-formatted every partition on every hard 
drive on the system, not until long after the animated marshmallow 
rabbit screen savers had stopped running around leaving droppings 
all over every screen window.

While Mulder made his way back to Washington, there was one last 
thing to do.  He went to his desk, to get the key for the primary CPU.

"Have you been having fun?"  Emphysema Man stepped out of the 
shadows, and puffed smoke in his direction.  Lots of smoke.

"Man, you scared the shit out of me!" said Oliver, trying to act natural.

"Did I?"

"Uh, well, got to go," he shrugged.  "Something I must attend to."

"Such as shutting down the control grid?"  Emphysema Man produced 
an automatic pistol from his pocket.  "I'm afraid that I cannot allow that 
to happen."

The younger man stared at the gun, and then at the key that he held 
in his right hand.

"Give the key to me," Emphysema Man ordered, coughing and 
spluttering horribly.

Handleberry shook his head, and started backing away towards the 
PC work station in the corner of his office.  One eye was on the box of 
Blubbies that was still sitting on his desk, where Mulder had left them.

Emphysema Man moved towards him, waving the gun threateningly.  
"I will not hesitate to kill you," he said, "If it is necessary for the 
success of the plan."

Handleberry somehow managed to tap a few keys on the keyboard, 
which was now right behind him.  He hoped that his thumb was 
hovering over F9, when he pressed it down.

Emphysema Man heard the bubbling and gurgling almost at once, but 
by then it was far, far too late.  The box burst open, spewing forth a 
torrent of gooey white marshmallow derivative.

He looked around at the last moment, just as he was completely 
engulfed in the slimy, bubbling, mess.  In those last few seconds of his 
consciousness, before he became one with every marshmallow 
throughout the world, he managed to squeeze the trigger.

It was one last act of defiance, before Emphysema Man ceased to be 
a man at all, and became a piece of sentient confectionery instead.  
Not that he remained sentient for very long, because the room was 
very warm, and the air conditioning wasn't working.

The sentient confectionery started to melt.

Handleberry clutched his hand to his side, where the 9mm bullet had 
lodged, and from where blood was now issuing in torrents that 
seemed totally out of all proportion to the size of the wound.  Gasping 
with pain, he inserted the key into the CPU housing beneath the desk, 
looked up at the display and located an icon on the screen with the 
mouse.

With the mouse pointer hovering over a picture of a rabbit with a very 
big gun at its head, he double clicked ...

... And all over North America, communications towers that people 
had assumed were operated by one of the cellular communications 
companies, ceased to function.  They would never work again.

Nor would he, he realised, as he finally let the darkness come and 
claim him.



--- --- ---



: The Powder Room in the Manipulator's Time Ship
: Outside of Einsteinian Space/Time



As the Manipulator hammered on the door, promising to do all kinds of 
horrible things to her, once he had found a way through the 
infinitanium armoured panelling, a thought came to Scully.

Well, actually, quite a few thoughts came to her, but a lot of them she 
was trying to ignore.

In the Doctor Scully stories, the Doctor had always managed to get 
out of tight situations by pulling something out of her pockets, like a 
rabbit out of a hat.  And she *was* wearing the Doctor's coat.

"Ah, well, Dana," she said to herself, "Nothing ventured ..."  She 
reached into the right hand pocket of the coat.  And reached, and 
reached.  Soon, she was bending to one side, as most of her forearm 
disappeared inside the pocket.  She felt as if she were putting her arm 
down a manhole.  How could the pocket be this deep?  It was deeper 
than the damn coat was long!

Eventually her hand made contact with something.  She pulled.  Out 
came a roll of fire hose.  She tossed it aside, and delved back into the 
pocket, retrieving, in turn, a packet of (yes, well, let's hope we don't 
need *those*, she thought, tossing them away), a French/English 
Dictionary, three pork pies, a postcard of Vancouver, and a ticket to 
the Millenium Dome dated January 1st, 1999.

'No luck there, then,' she thought, turning her attention to the left hand 
pocket.

The instrument that she withdrew next looked a bit like a small Easter 
egg, although it was made out of shiny metal and had a red button on 
one end.  She held it up to her face and studied some lettering 
stamped around its circumference:


Vaughan Electromatics Inc.

TARDIS Automatic Retrieval Circuit Type A


At that moment, the door to the powder room started to glow very 
bright indeed, soon showing signs that there wasn't going to be a door 
there at all in the very near future.

Not particularly wanting to find herself in that situation, Scully pushed 
the red button.

And nothing whatsoever happened.


To be continued ...


--- :S6E14: ---

<<<

In the previous episode ...

It looks as if the plot to take control of the United States with millions 
of rabbit-shaped marshmallows (actually Automatons - genetically 
engineered Biological Constructs), has been foiled by Mulder and 
Oliver Handleberry.  But Mulder's friend has paid the ultimate price - 
sacrificing himself to save the country, perhaps the entire world, from 
domination by the group known as the Affiliation.

At the same time, Emphysema Man was absorbed by the collective 
mind of all marshmallows the world over, and spent a very brief period 
of time as a piece of sentient confectionery.  But then he melted, so 
that's him out of the way.  He is mourned only by several very large 
tobacco corporations.

After dispensing with the Automaton masquerading as Scully's lawyer, 
Rustingside, the Doctor brings her TARDIS into the court room and 
takes the whole trial inside - where she proves that there is no case 
for Scully to answer.

In the Manipulator's Time Ship, Scully has locked herself in the 
powder room to escape from the foul and abnormal advances of the 
sexually deranged Manipulator.  Just as he starts to blast through the 
door, she finds a TARDIS Automatic Retrieval Circuit in one of the 
Doctor's coat pockets ...

>>>

Episode Fourteen



: The Court Room
: Washington D.C.



Mulder was surprised to find the entire courtroom deserted. Then he 
saw the familiar passport photograph booth, standing just in front of 
the empty witness box.  Clutching the shrink-wrapped book, he ran 
down to the front of the court and pushed through the curtain that 
hung over the doorway, stepping into the booth.

Inside, all sorts of people were standing around chatting, having 
drinks, and eating snacks.  In fact, it was a regular garden party.  
There was even a band playing in the background.

He stepped into the crowd, and suddenly a pair of hands clamped 
over his eyes.

"Surprise, Mulder," she said.

"Doctor?"

She took her hands away and he turned around to face her.

"Just having a few friends round," she grinned, kissing him lightly on 
the cheek.

"... A few friends? ..."  He looked around him.  "Half the population of 
D.C. must be here!"

Over in the corner he recognised the judge in his black robes, chatting 
to Rank, the US Attorney.  The Mayor was there, so were Skinner and 
Section Chief Blevins, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary General 
to the United Nations, the entire production team at Fox Television, 
Teri Hatcher, who was laughing and flirting with a sickly looking man 
wearing horn-rimmed glasses and an ill-fitting Superman costume ... 
in fact *everyone* was there, and they were all laughing and generally 
having what looked like a tremendous amount of fun.

"But what about the trial?" he asked, with concern.

"Oh, that," she dismissed it with a wave of her hand, "Didn't I tell you 
that I'd deal with it."

"Deal with it how?"  He realised that his mouth was hanging open, so 
he closed it.

"Later, Mulder."  She took hold of his arm and started to pull him away 
from the crowd.  "Much later ..."

"No, wait," he stopped her.  "It's Scully.  The Manipulator has her."

The smile left her face immediately, replaced by a cold, deep frown 
that told of hatred and loathing.  "Do you mean to say that she is in the 
clutches of that unspeakable madman?  That despicable fiend?  That 
foul abomination?  That -"

"- Yeah.  So we've got to -"

"We will," she said, solemnly.

Suddenly, the whole place began to vibrate, as a loud bell started 
ringing from somewhere deep within the bowels of the TARDIS.

"The Cloister Bell," she said.  "Somebody has activated the Automatic 
Retrieval Circuit."

"Scully?"  He looked hopeful.

"I do hope so," she said, pushing her way through the crowds to the 
console.  "Hold on everybody!" she shouted over the music, "We're 
dematerialising!"



--- --- ---



: The Manipulator's Time Ship
: In the Vortex



Scully pressed herself up against the far wall, as the door to the 
powder room glowed first a dark red, then dull orange, bright yellow, 
and finally a brilliant white.  She raised her hands in front of her face in 
an attempt to shield herself from the intense heat.

The deafening whine of power rose towards a shrieking crescendo, as 
the brightness peaked out, and the heat began to burn the skin on the 
backs of her hands.

And then it stopped.

She risked a glance between the fingers of her interlaced hands.  The 
door was gone.  It had just completely ceased to exist.

In the passageway, the Manipulator was leaning idly against a 
roundelled panel, puffing on the cigarette in its ludicrously long holder.

"Playing hard to get, my sweet?" he leered.

"Uh, it got jammed," she sighed with resignation, letting her hands fall 
to her side.

"Do not presume too much upon my good nature."  He stepped 
towards her, and gripped her firmly by the shoulders.  "Now, will you 
come with me of your own accord, or do I have to demonstrate the full 
range of Time Lord psycho-kinetic powers to you?"

Whatever he meant, it didn't sound good, so she started walking back 
towards the console room.  "Did you give that visit to the analyst any 
more thought?" she asked casually, as he steered her towards the 
bed.

"Woman, you anger me," he growled.  "What purpose can you 
possibly believe your pointless prattle will serve.  I am the superior!  I 
am the Manipulator!  And I shall -"

"- Rule the entire Cosmos?  Gain dominion over all living things?  Get 
free subscriptions to Sky Sports until the end of eternity?  Yeah, I've 
heard all this before."  She rounded on him, stabbing her finger at his 
chest with each sentence.  "The truth is that you're just a sick little 
pervert who's been watching too many bad science fiction films.  Even 
a cane toad has more claim to superiority than you!"

Scully couldn't believe that she'd just said that.

Nor could the Manipulator, who looked very taken aback.  He stood 
there, with his eyes wide and not a trace of a smile on his face.

"In fact," Scully continued, "You're just a nasty little bully.  And there 
are plenty of them in the universe already.  We don't need any more!"

"But -"

"Shut up, you simpering slime ball.  I bet the only way you could ever 
get a date was to abduct some poor unsuspecting -"

"- I have never abducted a woman."  He looked hurt; mortally 
offended.

"Yeah?  What do you call this then?"  She gestured around the 
console room, then at the bed, and the pile of lingerie.

"But I thought -"

Scully stepped closer to him and looked up into his face.  And, boy, 
did she look angry.  "You know what?  I feel sorry for you," she said, 
at last.  "You're worse than pathetic!  You're ... unimportant."

That really hurt.  He swallowed hard.

And then the wheezing and sucking sound that accompanied a 
TARDIS materialisation, filled the console room.  He spun around, just 
in time to see a blue Police Box appearing right next to the central 
console.

Moments later the door opened, and the Doctor and Mulder stepped 
out.  At once, Mulder levelled his weapon at the Manipulator.

"Oh, good," said the Doctor, casting a glance over the new shape of 
her TARDIS, "The Chameleon Circuit is back on-line."

Scully quickly crossed the console room, and she and the Doctor 
exchanged a brief but heartfelt embrace.

"About time," said Scully, but not entirely seriously.

"Well, the Automatic Retrieval Circuit is not that accurate at the best of 
times," explained the Doctor, defensively.  "You're supposed to keep 
the button pressed in, you know.  We almost didn't find you."

"Well, it didn't exactly come with instructions," said Scully, throwing off 
the Doctor's scarlet coat and handing it to her.

"The trousers are hers as well," said Mulder, offhandedly.

She elbowed him in the stomach and he winced.  "Ow, Scully!"

"I don't know who's worse."  Scully glared at him for a few seconds, 
and then she did the same to the Manipulator.  Finally, with a haughty 
shrug, she stepped inside the TARDIS.

"And, as for you ..."  The Doctor reached into one of the pockets of her 
coat and pulled out the polymorphic pliers.  She walked over to the 
other Time Lord, holding them menacingly in her right hand.

The Manipulator eyed her suspiciously.  She reached the end of the 
bed, took one look at it, and shook her head with despair.

"Pathetic," she said, still shaking her head.  "And you want to rule the 
Cosmos?"

"What will you do with me?" he asked, shamefully.

"Do?  Pah!  You're not worth the effort."  And with that, she pointed 
the nose of the pliers towards the control console and pressed a 
button.

"No, don't do that!" he cried.  "Please ... don't damage my ship!"

A bolt of light flashed from the end of the pliers and struck the console, 
which instantly exploded like the 5th of November.  When the sparks 
had stopped flying, and the sound of things exploding had faded, the 
controls were well and truly deep fried.

"That should keep you busy for a while."  She grinned, and started to 
walk back towards her TARDIS.  Then she stopped, turned back, and 
examined the lacy garments that were laid out on the bed.  She 
selected something that took her fancy and popped it into her pocket.  
"Thanks so much, old chap," she winked at him.

Mulder, then the Doctor, disappeared inside the blue Police Box.  
Seconds later, the light on top started flashing, and the console room 
was filled with the characteristic sucking and wheezing sound again.

After a few moments it was gone.  And the Manipulator was all alone.

He fell down onto his knees, almost on the verge of sobbing.  When 
he did speak, his voice was hollow; broken.  "Doctor - you will pay for 
this humiliation.  I promise you.  Whatever it takes.  However long I 
have to wait ...

"You will PAY!"



--- --- ---



: Departures Lounge
: Washington National Airport



Winston Bradwell and the Border Collie eyed one another 
confrontationally.  Cautiously, he backed away from the dog and 
found himself an empty seat that was fairly well protected by a barrier 
of suitcases, carrier bags, and numerous other items of luggage.

The dog took one last look at him, and then turned his attention to a 
little white poodle that sauntered past, waggling her pom-pom tail 
provocatively as she steered her mistress towards a discarded half-
eaten Big Mac that was lying near one of the plant pots.

Bradwell breathed a sigh of relief.  He set down his suitcase between 
his legs and carefully rested the plastic carrier bag across his knees.  
A glance up at the departure board confirmed that he had another two 
hours or so before his flight left.  In truth, he wouldn't be sorry to be 
going back, even though he knew that his boss was going to be 
*really* pissed at him.  He could almost hear the towering man's 
words now:  "Now listen here, young Bradwell, I send you three 
thousand miles to protect the Corporation's interests, and what do you 
do?"

Nothing, he thought, that's what I did.  Nothing except get caught up 
with a bunch of total nutcases, who had become far too fond of the 
sound of their own voices for his liking.  On reflection, perhaps licence 
fee collection wasn't such a bad job after all, at least it was *real life*.

There was one thing that he was sad about, though.  Well, not really 
sad; more a mixture of feelings actually.  He'd really wanted to meet 
Dana Scully, and not just hover around in darkened alleyways, or hide 
behind magazine covers, spying on her.  She'd seemed such an 
interesting person, and he was certain that there would have been lots 
that they'd have had in common.  Still, at least those ridiculous 
charges had been dropped.

Bradwell started to turn his thoughts back to England and, in 
particular, to Jacqueline, and his total and abject failure to achieve 
anything at all in that area; something that was starting to become a 
depressingly familiar aspect of his life.  Well, that was going to have to 
change.  Winston, it's time you started being proactive, he'd told 
himself, so he had taken the first step.

He looked down at the carrier bag that lay across his knees, and 
gently smoothed flat the gothic wording, pressing it against the cover 
of the big hardback book that was inside:


Jack's Curio Shop

For something just that little bit different.


He smiled to himself.  Jacqueline loved books.



--- --- ---



: The Court Room
: Washington D.C.
: Friday, 8:02 am



The Doctor bade goodbye to Judge Isiah Hoskins, the last of the 
party-goers to leave the TARDIS.  Littered all around the console 
room were streamers, paper cups, beer cans, and all manner of things 
that indicated that people had had a really good time.

Scully and Mulder walked up to her.  Scully back in her business suit, 
Mulder looking quite the worse for wear.  Which was just the way she 
liked him.

At the door, the two women faced each other.

"A bit of bad luck, really," said The Doctor, holding up the book.  "This 
was the last of an experimental batch that the Manipulator had 
created for test purposes.  That was before he moved to his other 
location in Southfield.  This one's not quite like the others, though."

"Oh?"  Scully raised an eyebrow.

"The genetic inks are out of alignment," she explained.  "Not by much, 
but enough to make it useless for the Manipulator's purposes.  The 
worst effect that it could have had was to make the reader a little bit 
more daring.  But nothing they wouldn't have been capable of doing 
anyway.  Probably no worse an effect than a few stiff drinks."

Scully thought that sounded familiar, because she'd felt a little light 
headed all the while she'd been writing those stories.

"Do you want it back?  It's harmless now, of course."

She shook her head.  "No offence, Doctor, but I think I'd like to take a 
break from Doctor Scully for a while."

They both smiled, and hugged each other.  Scully turned to her 
partner.  "You coming, Mulder?"

He looked at them both, hesitantly.  "Uh, in a minute, Scully.  You go 
on."

She shrugged, and stepped outside the TARDIS.

Mulder and the Doctor spent a long while just staring at one another, 
but it was she who finally spoke.  "It's a bit of a cliche, I know ... but it 
really was nice while it lasted."

"Yeah. It was," he agreed.

She grinned again, and held out her hand.  He shook it; very 
business-like; very politically correct.

"Goodbye, Mulder.  I'll miss you."

"You too," he said, swallowing hard to get around the dryness in his 
throat.  "... Goodbye, Doctor."  He turned to leave.

"If you ever need anything -"  She reached out and caught him by the 
arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"What, I should just call the operator and ask for 1-800-DOCTOR?"

The Doctor tapped her temples, secretively.  "Just ask Dana."

"Scully?  But how?"  He looked confused.  "I don't understand -"

"Well, let's just say she has direct access to the Hot Line ... Of course, 
I can't always guarantee that it'll be *me* who turns up - there are nine 
of us now, you know."  She stepped forward, and kissed him lightly on 
the cheek.  "You will take care of yourselves, won't you?"

"We will."  He grinned, a bit like a naughty schoolboy who knew more 
than he was telling.  Then he kissed her on the forehead, and turned 
once again to the door.

Sadly, she watched him step through the portal.  He didn't look back.

The Doctor waited until she was certain that he'd passed back into 
Real Space, and then she walked slowly over to the console, kicking 
some beer cans and paper plates out of the way.  Taking a deep 
breath, she punched some co-ordinates into the control panel, closed 
her eyes, and pulled down hard on the materialisation lever.

When she opened them again, the TARDIS was on its way, tumbling 
through time and space towards who knew where?

"Well, I may not be what the Cosmos is used to," she smiled to 
herself, "But I *am* ... The Doctor."


<<

Close angle on The Doctor, grinning mischievously.

Cut to: Exploding Triple Starburst effect (optical+audio).

Cue Theme and roll End Titles.

>>



--- END ---


Changes made for this edition:

I made some minor changes to the dialogue and sentence structures 
in practically every episode, but there were a number of specific 
changes that I hope make the story a little bit more complete ...

Episode 2 was always the one that I felt the least comfortable with, so 
this had a number of changes:  The Man With an Indeterminate 
Accent now specifically instructs Emphysema Man to steal 'the' book;  
The passage where Bradwell finds Scully's picture, in the file at the 
EBC office, at the start of his assignment, has been substantially 
reworked;  The exchange in Skinner's office, at the end of the 
episode, has been reworked and extended.

In episode 11, When Handleberry explains about the photo to Mulder, 
he now gives the reason why it was sent to Skinner.

In episode 13, the cliffhanger was changed.

In episode 14, an additional scene was added, so that the reader now 
gets to find out what happened to Winston Bradwell;  The final 
exchange between Mulder and the Doctor has been extended;  the 
'shooting script' instructions at the very end have been altered.


End Notes:

This is an extract from an E-Mail that I sent on 25th March 1998 (just 
after posting "The Ninth Doctor").  Although this note was actually on a 
different subject, it was here that the idea for the whole story first 
surfaced ...

<<<

... In the meantime, I shall be seeking inspiration for the next Doctor 
Scully adventure - One idea that I have is for Scully to be prosecuted 
by the BBC in a Federal Court for breach of copyright.  In her defence 
she has to recall numerous Dr. Scully adventures in order to prove 
that she is not the same Doctor as "theirs", and therefore has no case 
to answer.

Working title: "The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent" ...

>>>

Interestingly, the first episode of this story was actually based on the 
start of a draft for a completely different story that never got written.  
These are the only remaining notes from that draft ...

<<<

Will the Real Doctor Scully ...

"Mulder.  Even if I believed this outlandish story of yours ..." said 
Scully, holding the book away from him with one hand and fending 
him off with the other. "... Which I don't. I am *not* giving you this 
book!"

Mulder sees that she has been working on her PC, writing a Dr. Scully 
story. He sees that she has been posting them to the Internet.

- Trapped in FBI HQ over the holiday weekend.

"But Scully, you don't understand.  That book has the power to alter 
human personality.  It was part of an experiment by an evil Time Lord 
called the Manipulator who's hell-bent on universal domination ..."

>>>

The two pieces of dialogue here made it almost verbatim into the final 
story, while the idea about her writing Doctor Scully stories and 
posting them to the Internet also got used.  I can't remember what it 
was I had in mind about them being trapped in the building.



--- Episode Fourteen: The Original Draft ---



If you liked the way the story ended, then you might *not* want to read 
this next section.

This is my original framework draft for the final episode.  I have 
included it here because I thought people might find it interesting.  The 
draft is pretty much as it was originally written, although I have tidied 
up a few bits of grammar, and corrected some spelling mistakes.

You'll see that there are a number of explanatory plot devices that 
ended up being pulled back into the earlier episodes (the explanation 
of the photograph, for example).  There are also some points in this 
draft that do not agree with what actually happened in episodes 
eleven, twelve, and thirteen.  Unfortunately I no longer have the 
originals of those, so they cannot be included here.  I can tell you that 
the party in the Time Ship was not in those drafts, nor was the fact 
that the Time Ship changed from a passport photograph booth into a 
police box, and started to get called the TARDIS.

I'll leave it to you to judge which was the best ending ...


-- -- --


The Doctor tracks the Manipulator in her Time Ship.  On the way she 
gives Mulder and Scully some essence of Bondarisian Slimoid  "To 
counteract the effects of the poison you were exposed to," she 
explains.  When they question her, she tells them about the spray can.  
Mulder and Scully look at one another.  "Bug Buggerers!"

They arrive on top of Yaki Point, on the Southern rim of the Grand 
Canyon, where the Manipulator has taken control of a National Parks 
Observation Post.

The Doctor goads him into giving them a full explanation of his brilliant 
plan ...

The original book was the Manipulator's first test of the alien 
technology that he stole from the Authors of Antacharian, a race of 
trans-dimensional literary scholars who have been writing great works 
of fiction since the beginning of the universe.

He came to Earth in his Time Ship to test the book on a number of 
subjects, and made it appear around the existing deserted curio shop 
- this was why Doctor Scully thought it felt so familiar to her, and also 
why it was so clean and empty when they went back.

It was sheer accident that Mulder and Scully happened to pick up the 
book in the first place, as the Manipulator's experiment was almost at 
an end and he was busily preparing for his plan to conquer the planet.

When he encountered the Doctor and Mulder in Southfield, this gave 
him the idea of putting Scully in danger to draw the Doctor to Earth to 
suffer his revenge.

Finding that the Affiliation had similar aims to his own, he decided that 
they would make a useful tool to (a) draw Mulder and Scully into 
danger, and (b) help him destroy the planet so that he could rebuild it 
in his own image.

The photograph was sent by Oliver Handleberry to lure them to the 
curio shop, so that Emphysema Man could break into Scully's desk 
and remove the book - the only evidence that could possibly be used 
in her defence.  But it also served a dual purpose - it was not Skinner 
that delivered the photo to them, but a marshmallow Automaton.  If 
Mulder and Scully could be fooled by this, then they would fool 
anyone!

A frantic struggle between them ensues, and the Manipulator falls to 
his death(?).  Mulder and Scully find the Doctor, exhausted and near 
death.  Scully says that there is nothing they can do for her.  The 
Doctor tells a distraught Mulder that "It's the end for this lifetime ... but 
I shall continue."  He does not know what she means but, before their 
eyes, she regenerates into a man.

"What happened?" Mulder asks, in shock.

"I'm back," says the new Doctor. "And it's about time too."

Mulder and Scully bid goodbye to the Tenth Doctor, as his passport 
photograph booth slips into the vortex. They start towards the 
abandoned park ranger's Jeep.

"Well come along, Mulder," says Scully, throwing her scarf around her 
neck. "Time is the enemy, you know ..."



--- About the Author ---



Adrian was born in January 1960, in the seaside town of Brighton, 
England.  It was snowing.

After a fairly disappointing academic career, in which he totally failed 
to achieve his ambition to join the crew of the first British manned 
space flight to Mars, he worked for the Civil Service, first as a 
Pensions Clerk, then as a Tax Officer.  When he got bored with that, 
he moved to a government agency providing Information Technology.  
This was privatised some years later, and he is now a Project 
Manager for a well-known global IT Services company.

He is single and lives somewhere in the county of Bedfordshire, 
England, in Europe.  He has always wanted to write for television, and 
his other hobbies include technical illustrating, and programming for 
obsolete computer systems in arcane languages that come with a 
Government Health Warning.

He even tried to learn to speak French once.

He is not in love with Gillian Anderson. (But he does quite fancy Agent 
Scully!)



--- Epilogue ---



Doctor Scully was a series that I brought to a close reluctantly, and I 
did so because the best time to stop writing about a character, is when 
there are still some stories left to tell.

I hope you enjoyed this compilation.  I certainly got a lot of fun out of 
writing the original stories, and pulling them all together into this 
Collector's Edition was quite a challenge.

I've tried to make this volume a little bit special.  If you can find the 
time, I'd really like to hear from you about whether it worked or not.  
Please E-Mail me at the address below, I promise that I'll reply to any 
feedback I receive.

As to whether the Doctor will find her way back onto my keyboard 
some day ... Well, as the Doctor herself will doubtless tell you, 
anything is possible.

Anything.


--- Footnote ---


The first edition of this volume was completed on May 3rd, 1998.  I 
last updated "The Complete Adventures" on 19th January, 1999.  
Between September 3rd , 1998 and that date I reviewed each of the 
first six stories and re-edited them, correcting more bad grammar and 
making numerous small changes.  I think the *final* versions are both 
neater and easier to read.  I'm certainly happier with them.

The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent proved not to be the last 
adventure for the Doctor.  To date, she has appeared in two further 
stories: 'The Invasion of the Quantum Turtles' and 'The Time Cube of 
Tetra Nova'.  At the time of writing I have plans for at least one more 
story.  When this is complete, I shall probably bundle the last three 
stories into a further volume.

If you're curious, you can find all of the Doctor Scully adventures at my 
web site, along with a lot of other fiction inspired by the X Files.  Just 
point your browser at this URL: 
http://homepages.tesco.net/~Adrian.Ives/index.html

Thanks for reading!



Adrian D. Ives
19th January 1999
Bedfordshire
England
EU
Earth
Sol System
The Western Spiral Arm
Milky Way Galaxy
Universe 1/42

AdrianIves@email.msn.com


--- Acknowledgements ---


Special thanks to the BBC for bringing us Doctor Who in the first 
place, and to all the actors who have played the Doctor and his myriad 
companions, there are far too many to mention here.

Equal thanks to Chris Carter and the gang at 1013 and Fox, who have 
consistently delivered such an excellent series.  My sincere respect to 
Gillian, David, Mitch and the rest of the X Files cast, who have brought 
those characters to life so superbly.  I can't write them a tenth as well 
as you play them!

And I hope I didn't take too many liberties with either of these two 
excellent series!

Gratitude is also due to the InTechCo Corporation of Owens, 
Nebraska; Futures 'R' Us of Profiteria III, in the Star System Pollux 
Arianthus; TrebleDays Book Mart; The Highways Agency, England 
(without whom the British network of major roads and Motorways 
would be in a *much* worse state!); The English Broadcasting 
Corporation; and the citizens of Washington, Southfield, and half a 
dozen other places that I've never been to!

Finally, to everyone who sent me feedback on the original stories, my 
thanks.  They would never have been finished without you.  Really.


--- Appendix 1 ---


Doctor Scully, Guardian of the Cosmos

Original News Group Posting Schedule

--- --- ---

Doctor Scully and the Mutant Mega-Mice from Mars

1       16/03/1998 (17/03 to adc)

2       16/03/1998 (17/03 to adc)

--- --- ---

The Ninth Doctor

(Posted as "She's back ... and it's about time!" on atxc)

(Posted as "Dana Scully is ... The Ninth Doctor" on adc)

1       23/03/1998

--- --- ---

A Postcard from Earth

1       27/03/1998 (atxc only)

--- --- ---

Doctor Scully and the Terror of the Brain Sucking Slime Beasts

1       29/03/1998

2       29/03/1998

--- --- ---

Doctor Scully and the File After "W"

1       04/04/1998

2       04/04/1998

3       05/04/1998

--- --- ---

Where Dragons go to Dream

1       09/04/1998

2       10/04/1998

3       11/04/1998

4       12/04/1998

--- --- ---

The Trial of a Time Travelling FBI Agent

1,2     18/04/1998

3,4     19/04/1998

5       20/04/1998

6       21/04/1998

7       22/04/1998

8       23/04/1998

9       24/04/1998

10      25/04/1998

11      25/04/1998

12      26/04/1998

13      26/04/1998

14      26/04/1998

--- --- ---

Notes:

atxc = alt.tv.x-files.creative

adc = alt.drwho.creative



--- DISCLAIMER ---



Doctor Who and the TARDIS device are copyright BBC Television.
The X Files, Mulder and Scully are the intellectual property of Chris 
Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Television.
All other copyrights are acknowledged.
These stories are Fan Fiction and have not been produced to profit 
from the copyright owners, nor to deprive them of revenue.
No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
These stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons 
living or dead is entirely unintentional.
This material may be archived provided that this disclaimer is 
included, the author is clearly identified, and the story is not altered in 
any way.
This material may not be distributed for profit.