NEW: Trace Evidence II: Hobson's Choice (02/10) (X/CRA)
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence II: Hobson's Choice (02/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Mulder and Scully's Office
"This has to be a record for you," Scully said,
glancing at her watch.
"I know, I know," Mulder mumbled, closing
their office door and heading for his desk.
"You're on time."
He knew he couldn't have heard her correctly.
"Excuse me?"
"It's nine. You're on time."
"Don't look so surprised," he covered.
"Sometimes, when the planets align, that happens."
"Really," she smirked, waving a floppy disk for
emphasis. "Well, is the moon in the seventh house of
actually getting something done before noon?"
"What's on the disk?"
"What? Oh. Just something I thought might
amuse you," she said, and walked over toward his desk.
Slipping the floppy into the drive, she manipulated the
mouse into opening Editpad. Pulling the file off the disk,
she straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest.
Mulder pulled his glasses from the desk drawer, and
read the text closely. Swiveling in his chair, he looked
up at her.
"Where did you get this?"
"Pathology news group," she shrugged, not
liking the determined concern she read in her partner's
expression.
Opening his usenet client, Mulder quickly hit the
search tab, covering up his predilection for
alt.binaries.pictures groups. With a few keystrokes, he
pulled up sci.med.pathology, and scanned through the
headers.
"It's not here," he frowned. He cleared the
group, then reloaded the old articles, in case he had
missed something. On second examination, the post was
still missing.
Scully shook her head. "It was there on
Saturday."
Minimizing the usenet client, he opened his web
browser and pulled up DejaNews. A nonspecific search
for the subject line revealed nothing. He tried the
author's name, AGilson, and found a few posts in
alt.tv.millennium and alt.fan.melissa-leo, but no posts in
sci.med.pathology.
"Mulder, it was just a joke," she said finally,
putting her hand down on the mouse.
"I dunno, it sounded pretty serious to me,"
Mulder replied, paging through a few more indexes
before giving up. "And more than a little suspicious that
it's missing from the archives of old articles."
Raising her eyebrows, Scully stared through her
eyelashes at the ceiling. This was supposed to be funny,
an amusing anecdote to share over bad coffee before
getting to work, but her plan had backfired. Instead of
entertaining him, it was intriguing him.
"It's a troll, Mulder. It's just someone trying to
get a rise out of the news group by posting off topic.
The government is no more controlling unsuspecting
citizens of New Berlin than The Millennium Group is a
real organization."
Printing out a copy of the post, Mulder nodded.
"But he has his facts straight, doesn't he?"
She stared at him in confusion. "What are you
talking about? This post is nothing more than fiction,
Mulder. If you should be worried about anything, it
should be the mental health of this AGilson person."
"Why? What he's describing coincides exactly
with the results from Dr. Jose Delgado's stimoceiver
experiments." Rolling his chair back, Mulder scanned
the contents of his bookshelf, finally pulling out several
small paperbacks. "In 1964, Delgado developed an
implant which would stimulate the brain with electricity,
from a remote location. The first ones were imperfect;
they had lead wires, antennae if you will, which had to
protrude through the skin for the device to work.
"By 1968, he had developed a subcutaneous
version. Tests showed that the electrical impulses
generated by the implants would halt seizures in
epileptic patients, but he also discovered that he could
modify these electrical pulses to embed psychological
suggestions. Shortly after that, the CIA funded his
experiments, which included using radio waves to cause
hallucinations and control behavior. Sound familiar?"
"And where did you get this information, The
Big Book of Urban Legends?"
Handing her one of the paperbacks, he smirked
up at her. "February 24, 1974-edition of the
Congressional Record, and before that, 1965, the New
York Times."
Scully's confidence deflated for a moment. "Then
this AGilson has done his research. You can't possibly
believe that the government is running a covert
experiment on an entire town."
Mulder stood up and touched the bridge of her
nose softly. "Why can't I?"
Mulder's Apartment
Carefully maneuvering his way out of the
shower, Tim cursed himself for forgetting to bring a
towel into the bathroom with him. Strapping on his
crutches, he dripped his way into the linen closet, pulling
out the last clean towel. He'd already spent three hours
watching old Looney Tunes, then worked his way
through Mulder's small collection of Playstation games
(making sure that his initials were embedded into each
high score list) until he was downright sick of his own
company. Still wet, he struggled into a pair of jeans and
a T-shirt. He stuffed the business card Mulder had given
him into his wallet, then reached over and picked up the
phone.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Computer Sciences Division
"Did you try sending mail to the address," Danny
asked. Disgust registered on his face when they both
shook their heads no. Rolling his eyes, he fired off a
quick test mail to the address, the leaned back in his
chair and waited a few minutes to see if it would bounce
back to him. "Of course, this is imperfect, the AOL mail
server sucks. Lemme see the post."
"Can you trace it," Mulder asked, handing the
sheets of paper to him.
"Gimme a minute," he replied, tapping an arcane
command into a UNIX bash. Scully tried to watch and
keep track of Danny's commands; she would never be an
expert, but she liked learning new tricks. Several
screenfulls of information scrolled past in blinding
flourescent green against black, and for all she knew, he
was running a perpetual loop program.
"Well, until it hits AGilson at AOL, it appears to
be genuine," Danny said, leaning back in his chair. "It
could be he was using a temporary screen name. Lemme
see."
Spinning around in his chair, he pulled up an
AOL welcome screen on another computer, then tapped
his way through the opening sequences. Once he had a
keyword prompt, he typed in "Profiles". Shaking his
head, he browsed through several pages, then turned
back to the UNIX machine. Mulder and Scully
exchanged bemused grins as they watched in helpless
silence.
"Hey, what's this," Mulder asked, pointing at a
knob labeled 'Magic' and 'More Magic'.
"Don't touch it," Danny answered, not even
looking. "If it's not set to more magic, all my machines
will puke."
"Oooookay."
"This doesn't make any damned sense," Danny
frowned. Rearranging his headset, he opened a dialer
program. "I'm going to call AOHell and see what they
can tell me about this account. According to the data
you've brought me, this was a genuine post originating
from an AOL account, but I can't find the post, I can't
find a command message cancel, and I can't find the
user."
Mulder looked over at Scully, raising his
eyebrows to remind her that he was the one who
thought to look into this, and it was turning out there
was something to it. She returned his look with a steady
gaze, silently informing him that she absolutely
regretting bringing the disk to work.
"Yeah, hi, Luz, it's Danny. I was wondering if
you could pull an account up for me. Great. Yeah, the
login is capital a, capital g, i-l-s-o-n. Nope, it's not a
temp screen name. Yes, I'm absolutely sure." He rolled
his eyes for Scully's benefit. "Could you cross reference
that with New Berlin, New York? Yep. Huh. Not even
past accounts?"
After a few more exchanges, Danny thanked the
woman on the other line and hung up. "No accounts
registered for AGilson, no temp screen names as
AGilson, and no record of there ever having been an
AGilson."
"Looks like we're going to New Berlin," Mulder
said gleefully.
Homicide Unit, Giardello's Office
Going over a ream of paperwork, the last thing
Giardello wanted to do was answer the phone. He tried
ignoring it until the incessantly bleating forced him to
intervene.
"Giardello," he barked, making it evident in his
voice that he was not in the mood to talk.
"Hey, hi, Gee."
Propping his chin in his hand, Giardello scowled.
"What do you want, Bayliss?"
"Uh, well. . . I was wondering, I mean, I just
wanted to know. . ."
"Spit it out."
"When can I take my firearms exam? I'm going
crazy just sitting around all day. I can work cold cases
and. . ."
Shaking his head, Giardello sighed. "Can you
walk unaided?"
"Not yet, but the wheelchair is history and. . ."
"Talk to me when you can pass your physical."
"But Gee. . ."
"Don't 'but Gee' me. You know Barnfather and
Gaffney are still very serious about not wanting to see
you back in homicide. I am putting my name on the line
by bringing you back at all. I do this for you only
because I am your Lieutenant, and you are my detective.
Don't fiddle with my emotions, Bayliss. Come back
when you can pass your physical."
"Gee," Bayliss started.
"Good bye, Tim," Giardello answered, and hung
up without waiting for a response.
Mulder's Apartment
Just as Tim started to shut the door, the phone
rang. Hoisting himself back inside, he caught it on the
fourth ring.
"Mulder's."
"Tim, it's me. I'm glad I caught you; I thought
you might have left."
"I was just on my way out. What's up?"
"Well, Scully found something interesting on the
Internet, so we're going to New Berlin to check it out."
"Where's that?"
"New York; we'll be there overnight at least. I'm
really sorry."
"It's okay," he said, not really meaning it. "I'll
just catch a train back to Baltimore."
"Hey, you're welcome to stay. It would be nice
to come home to a friendly face."
"I better not. Lewis and Munch have been
covering my shifts at the Waterfront. Now that I'm
mostly up and about, I need to pick up the slack."
"We could take you up there; it's right on the
way."
"No, that's all right. I'll take the train."
"I'll make it up to you when we get back,"
Mulder promised.
"I don't suppose you can tell me anything."
"No, not really."
"Yeah, okay. I'll see you when you get back
then."
"I love you, Tim."
Bayliss waited a moment before answering. "I
love you, too. Be careful."
"Always," Mulder answered.
Not bothering to wait for the click, Tim let the
receiver roll out of his hand and back onto the cradle.
Later
I-83, Pennsylvania
Staring out across the thin stretch of black
asphalt, Scully kept one hand on the wheel as she
rummaged at her feet for one of the snacks they'd
bought at a gas station a few miles back. In the
passenger seat, Mulder was wholly engrossed in a copy
of The Sun, having given up the Weekly World News
for a while. Outwardly, things were as they always had
been, a long trip to a small town on what Scully
considered a wild goose chase. Inwardly, she was
uncomfortable with the silence.
Their relationship had always been a respectful
distance punctuated with moments of passion or
laughter, but that had changed when Tim Bayliss
entered the scene. She had always been Mulder's
protector; now she was his confidante too. She would
admit only to herself that she was jealous- not that
Bayliss had Mulder, but the other way around. Her
partner's affair only heightened her sense of isolation.
She looked over, examining the stark lines that joined to
paint his handsomely serious face.
"Mulder?"
Folding his tabloid, he looked over at her.
"Yeah?"
"What would you do if a woman asked you
out?" She didn't really need the answer; she'd been on
the aggressive edge of the dating scene before. The
question only served to distract him from his paper.
"You mean specifically now, or ever?"
"Just in general," she said, putting her foot on
the brake. The car in front of them was going
maddeningly slow, and a long string of sports cars and
SUVs in the left lane prevented her from passing. What
a metaphor, she thought.
"Faint," he smirked.
Flipping on her blinker, Scully checked the rear
view mirror. "Oh."
"Why, who're you asking out?"
"No one," she answered blankly, jumping lanes.
"I was just wondering."
Mulder opened his paper up, then folded it
closed again. "Munch."
"What about him?" She watched the
speedometer roll up over seventy, then switched back
into the right lane.
"Scully, he looks like he lost a fight with a
cheese grater," Mulder complained.
She raised an eyebrow. "It was just a
hypothetical question."
"Another tragic case of avoidance."
"Forget I asked," she muttered. "Give me a root
beer, would you?"
Opening the cooler, Mulder pulled a can out,
opened it and handed it to her. "If it's root beer, it's love.
Remember?"
She smiled wryly. "No. . . root beer is fate."
"I'm going to go out on a limb here," Mulder
said softly. "What's wrong?"
"I'm fine, Mulder."
He leaned his head back against the head rest.
"See, this is the funny part. You always say that. Just
'I'm fine, Mulder', and you think I don't know what you
really mean."
"Oh? What do I really mean?"
"It means something is lodged in your mind, and
you can't shake it loose. You hurt, but you can't admit
it. You think I should try to drag it out of you, and
you're angry when I don't."
A little embarrassed, Scully shook her head. "If
that's your analysis, why don't you?"
"If you really wanted me to know, you'd say it.
You don't want to give me any more of yourself than
you already have. If I make you tell me, I'm the bad guy.
You're not responsible."
"I see," she said, mulling it over. All these years,
she had wondered if he even registered that she was a
separate being; now she realized he knew her in greater
detail than she could imagine. While staring steadfastly
into the abyss for his truth, she had forgotten that before
everything, he was a psychologist. "Why didn't you say
something?"
He shrugged. "I'm not entitled to your
thoughts."
(End Part Two)