Isolation, Chapter Three
Mulder and Skinner led Morris Fletcher into the main part of the
building.
"Love what you've done to the place," Fletcher looked around. "Oh,
am I too late for lunch?" He gestured to the drink cups and sandwich
remains on the table.
"I think you should state your business," Skinner said.
"Once again, I'm Morris Fletcher," the man said, sticking out his
hand. "You must be Deputy Director Skinner. Congratulations on your
promotion, by the way. And you," he said with a grin, turning to
Mulder, "are the famous Fox Mulder. We've met before, briefly. I've
heard so much about you, I feel I know you already."
Mulder didn't take the proffered hand. "Who are you again, and what
do you want?" The face was familiar but other than a hackle-raising
feeling of instant dislike, he couldn't place Morris Fletcher.
"I used to work at a little place called Groom Lake," Fletcher said.
"Name ring a bell?"
"Groom Lake," Mulder repeated. Now he could match the face to the
location. "You were one of the men in black who stopped us, weren't
you?"
"That's right. We prevented you and your lovely partner from
spending years in the Federal pokey for aiding and abetting a
traitor. No need to thank me, by the way."
Skinner was starting to look interested in this. He glanced at
Mulder, who decided that the less said about that little escapade the
better. Mulder gestured for Fletcher to continue.
"Anyway, to make a long story short, someone decided he needed to be
a whistle-blower, and as a result they changed out the whole team. I
went free-agent for a while. Now I'm back working for the good
guys." Fletcher turned back to Skinner. "I worked with a couple of
your agents a few years back. Agents John Doggett and Monica Reyes?
He wasn't a barrel of monkeys. She was cool, though. Very new-
agey." He made a floating gesture with his hands and grinned again.
"Could you cut the crap and get to the point?" Skinner gritted out.
"Okay, I get you, all business," Fletcher said jovially. "I hear
you're trying to set up some kind of alien-detection agency here.
I'm sure to most folks it would seem like a crackpot idea, but I'm
not here to judge."
"What are you here for?" Mulder asked.
"What if I told you I had some guys who were every bit as good as
your old friends? They've got the mojo you're looking for."
"It's kung fu, you idiot," Mulder muttered. "How do you know what
we're looking for?"
"Word gets around," Fletcher said. "The M.I.B. community is a
small, tight-knit group. Or it used to be. Things aren't the same
anywhere, anymore."
"Yeah," Mulder agreed. "If they'll let you in, they'll let just
about anyone in."
Skinner shifted a little, raising his gun toward Fletcher again.
"Okay, okay!" Fletcher said. "I thought you'd appreciate a little
of my C.V. -- since Mr. Mulder here doesn't trust me. Then, you
don't really trust anyone, do you?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Mulder said.
"On the contrary, I do, Fox." Fletcher shook his head. "Your folks
didn't have much of a sense of irony, did they?"
Skinner raised his gun a little higher.
Fletcher heaved a huge sigh. "Here's the thing: I was there when
your three friends -- the Gunmen? -- died."
"Is that supposed to make me trust you?" Mulder asked.
"No, I didn't expect it would. If it makes you feel better, they
died as heroes. They saved the world that day, in their own way.
I'm asking you to consider this: what if they didn't really die?
What if they'd been saved?"
"I don't have time for this," Mulder said. "If you're going to tell
me that you've got clones or replicants for the guys, don't bother."
"I'm talking about the genuine article," Fletcher insisted. "And I
know where they are."
Mulder launched himself at Fletcher. "You son of a bitch!" he
yelled, getting Fletcher around the throat.
Fletcher brought his knee up and hit Mulder in a sensitive spot,
shoving him off and scrambling in the other direction.
"Is that any way to treat someone who's bringing you good news?" he
panted. "Really, now."
Mulder groaned and got to his knees. Fortunately Fletcher had been
a little off the mark, or he'd be lying in a fetal position right
now. He surged to his feet and went for Fletcher again.
"Hear me out before you start throwing punches!" Fletcher shouted.
"Calm down! Skinner? Help me out a little?"
"He doesn't work for me, and I'm inclined to hold you down while he
hits you if you don't stop fucking around and get to the point."
Skinner gestured with his gun. "Go sit down at the table. Now."
"Okay, okay. Keep him away from me," Fletcher said.
Mulder sat at the other end of the table, flexing his hand. Skinner
sat between them and leaned back, holding his gun.
Fletcher took a deep breath. "I work for an agency -- the name
isn't important. Recently, I was put in charge of a program that had
been abandoned a while back. I don't know why -- it worked, to an
extent -- I guess the government was going through an austerity
phase --"
"Mr. Fletcher..." Skinner warned.
"Anyway," Fletcher continued, "it had to do with selective memory
wipes -- and the next logical step, which is overlaying new memories.
We needed someone to try it out on, and I didn't think your guys
would volunteer. So I appealed to their sense of duty."
"Are you saying they volunteered?" Mulder asked. It seemed unlikely.
"Well, once we'd saved their lives -- and we knew that no one would
be missing them -- it seemed to us that they owed us. They'd have
died from that gas if we hadn't stepped in."
"What did you call it?" Skinner asked.
"Selectively induced amnesia," Fletcher said. "We tried a version
of it on you, Mr. Mulder. Do you remember Ellens Air Base?"
"Yeah, I remember the case. Parts of it. Scully told me I was at
the airbase. I don't remember that. Scully also told me they did
something to me there."
"They sure did," Fletcher chuckled. "At the time they didn't know if
they could reverse the effect. It's still uncertain, frankly. So I
guess you could say I 'borrowed' your pals for the next phase of the
testing. We wanted to see if we could induce amnesia and then
reverse it."
Mulder half-rose from his seat, gripping the edge of the table hard
with both hands. If he let go, he was sure he'd launch himself
across the table and take Fletcher by the throat. "You've kept them
alive all this time, you son of a bitch, so you can experiment on
them?"
"Oh, I'd say they're all fairly comfortable where they are,"
Fletcher said. "They don't remember anything, but they're safe.
Maybe even in better circumstances than they'd have been if we'd just
saved them and turned them loose."
"Don't try to justify what you did," Mulder growled. "Just tell me
where they are, and if you can restore their memories." Of all the
surreal conversations he'd had over the years, this one was right up
there. Fletcher was as smooth and polished as a salesman, right down
to the rep tie. He could tell them the sun was shining and Mulder
would look outside before believing him.
"We don't know yet. We've been waiting for a suitable opportunity."
"Why now?"
"Well, this seemed like a good time to try it. If it works, great,
and you get the help you need. If it doesn't, no harm, no foul."
"Maybe not to you," Mulder said. "They've lost years of their
lives, maybe even suffered permanent mental or physical damage. How
did you do it? Drugs? Surgery?"
"Hold your horses," Fletcher said. "Without me, they'd be dead.
And I do have a certain reputation to uphold. I wouldn't knowingly
harm them."
"And what's in it for you?" Skinner asked.
"I've made mistakes in the past, I admit it. Now I'm all about
'enlightened self-interest.' I know enough about what's going down
to want to be on the side of the good guys. At least until the
planet is saved. And it seems like you need some help. As you
pointed out, the bad guys seem to get all the cool stuff and the
access. I'm just trying to level the playing field." He grinned
again, which Mulder found more and more annoying. "And, by the way,
anyone can hear what you're talking about in here with a good
parabolic mike. Just a word to the wise."
"Go on," Mulder said, though he wanted to punch Fletcher in the face
very, very badly.
"What proof can you provide?" Skinner asked.
"I knew you would ask," Fletcher said, reaching into his suit
jacket. The two other men tensed. "Relax. I told you I wasn't
armed." He pulled out an envelope and opened it, withdrawing some
photos, which he threw on the table.
Mulder looked at them closely while Skinner kept an eye on Fletcher.
The photographs were mug-shot style, front and sides: someone who
looked like John Byers, with his beard and mustache removed; a man
who resembled Langly, minus his long blonde hair; and Frohike, who
looked like -- Frohike.
"We couldn't do much with the little guy," Fletcher said. "No
matter what, he looked the same."
"This proves nothing," Mulder said. "These photos could have been
taken at any time, any day."
"Yes, they could have," Fletcher agreed. "They weren't, though.
Maybe a little trust is in order here? I'm not asking for anything
in return."
"That right there is a big red flag," Skinner murmured. "There's
always a quid pro quo."
"Well, I wouldn't mind looking like a hero for once. We can talk
about that later. Besides, I said it's a crap shoot. We might not
be able to restore their memories. I don't want to get your hopes
up."
Mulder looked at the photos and then back at Fletcher. "I want
proof. Prove that these guys are who you say they are, and we'll
talk."
"Go ahead and keep the photos," Fletcher said. "I'll be back with
something more concrete. No, don't get up -- I'll see myself out."
x-x-x
The last time she saw Mulder in the corridor of a hospital, Scully
had already heard the bad news. This time, rather than mournful
looking, his face was blank.
"Mulder, what's wrong?" Scully took his arm and led him into her
office.
Once inside, he seemed at a loss. He sat, head in hands. Scully
closed the door and told her assistant to hold her calls. "Mulder?
How did the meeting with Skinner go?"
"Not as I expected. We got some news." He withdrew the photos from
his pocket.
"Good, or bad?"
"I don't know yet." He handed the photos to Scully.
x-x-x
"What else did he tell you?" Scully asked, once they were home and
no one could overhear them. Mulder had turned the volume up on the
TV just in case someone was listening somehow. He didn't think it
was possible to make him more paranoid; Morris Fletcher had
accomplished it.
"He wouldn't tell us where they are, just gave me the pictures."
"Pictures can be faked," Scully reminded him.
"Well, I know that," Mulder said edgily. "I've been proven wrong
often enough before. I told him I wanted proof that they are who he
says they are. We may need to do some testing to be sure they're not
replicants."
"Short of waving magnetite over them, how would we do that?"
"We know the signs. Certainly a reaction to magnetite is one of
them."
Scully sighed. "I'll do a complete work-up. It might not be
readily apparent. For that matter, how do we know Morris Fletcher
isn't a supersoldier?"
"I think they'd be scraping the bottom of the barrel if he is."
Scully took his hand. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up,
Mulder."
"I know." Mulder squeezed her hand back. "It seems too good to be
true, doesn't it? Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Once in a while the
good guys deserve a break, don't you think?"
"Is that your latest theory?" Scully asked, eyebrow raised. "That
it's our turn to catch a break?"
"Fletcher's promising proof. We'll see what he comes up with."
~*~