Episode I: A New Hope
"Maintain current course heading, Ensign Mulder," ordered the commanding
bald figure who filled the captain's chair with his muscular bulk.
"What the hell? Hey, all right! It's the Star Trek dream again!" exclaimed
the hazel-eyed young man, excitement quickening a distinctive monotone.
"Hmmm... I seem to have achieved a lucid dream state, an awareness of the
dreaming condition which, according to centuries old Tibetan Buddhist texts
as well as many contemporary dream scholars, allows the possibility of
direct control over the perceived environment. And I managed it without even
the preparation of mental exercises!
So then what are we doing in the Next Generation? I'm not sticking around
here as some stupid ensign! Let's go back to when the crew was two-fisted,
the captain had hair, and aliens were babes." The boy shut his eyes tightly,
pretty features twisting with effort and concentration. "C'mon, bring on the
blue nympho vampire chicks from Venus!"
He opened his eyes expectantly only to encounter the bored and faintly
irritated stares of the rest of the bridge staff. Nothing had changed.
"Ensign Mulder, there have been some changes brought into effect that I
think you should be made aware of," proclaimed a deep baritone from the
captain's chair.
"What?" Clear hazel eyes widened in surprise. "Nothing's different."
"No, not changes you brought on. Ones that we did."
"We?"
"The rest of the cast and myself in conjunction with the writers."
"What are you talking about?"
"This isn't a dream, Mulder. The show has taken a new direction, to the
satisfaction of the majority of its cast of characters."
"Why should I trust what you are telling me?" Suspicion blanketed Mulder's
face. Scenarios involving hallucinogenic drugs and consortium hypnotists
played through his mind.
Skinner sighed and looked to the figure seated to his left, a red- headed
woman in a blue medical services uniform. "I think you should talk to him."
"Mulder, just hold back your questions and comments until I get to the end
of this, OK? There's so much to brief you on as it is. All right... let's
start at the beginning. The ratings for the show have been slipping this
last season. I don't know if you were aware of that. You don't come to the
planning and discussion sessions with the writers—I know you feel you have
your reasons," Scully held up a restraining hand, forestalling a protest
from the ensign. "There didn't seem to be anything to be gained from
informing you about it, and nobody wanted to place you under additional
pressure. God knows, there's been stress enough for all of us as a result of
the show." This last comment drew sounds of agreement from all around the
bridge.
"So what are you trying to tell me here, Scully? The ratings were down, so
they decided to pull a special episode as a stunt to raise interest? Well,
some warning would have been nice, but I'm sure I can improvise my way
through like I usually do until we get back to normal. Alas, the trials of
the hero," he shot her a grin, then glanced around at the others and
continued in a drier tone. "Oh, and I'm touched that everyone is so worried
about my piece of mind, but the ratings and all other concerns of the
writers are meaningless to me. These issues are simply straw men,
distractions that are part of their machinations to turn me from my quest to
expose and defeat the conspiracies which the writers by virtue of their
positions must necessarily be responsible for creating and guilty of
perpetuating.
Scully, I've told you my thoughts about those meetings. They are meant trick
us into revealing information and manipulate us into complicity with the
plans of these men. You endanger yourself and our endeavors by attending."
During the course of this speech the boy had risen from his seat, delivering
it with a proud lift to his head and impassioned gestures.
"Oh great, he's off on it again," came an anonymous grumble somewhere to
Mulder's right. Mulder had been tirelessly campaigning against the writers
ever since his infamous first and last appearance at a consultation meeting.
In characteristic style, the man had come striding into the room, striking a
dramatic pose at the head of the table, to demand without preliminary the
immediate tender of the necessary information to locate his sister and bring
down the consortium in the name of humanity, the rights of the public and
the Truth. After some hemming and hawing and tolerant avuncular smiles from
the writers, it became clear that such information would not be forthcoming.
The outraged agent loudly denounced the entire room as a nest of
conspirators and collaborators against "the people" then stormed out, never
to return.
"I thought it was understood that you were going to listen to what I have to
say," Scully declared calmly, staring coolly at the young man until he
subsided back into his seat. "That's better. Now, you're working from some
false assumptions here. Firstly, this is not a special episode; this is a
permanent departure. The writers decided that it would aid in the continued
success of the show if they could take some of its best elements and combine
them with those of another series franchise that has a broad fan base and
powerful, yet untapped story potential—Star Trek: The Next Generation. You
yourself have often commented that you find the other spin-offs
dissatisfying in comparison and wish TNG was still in production. They're
gambling that we can recapture some of that while giving it our own flavor.
Secondly, the cast status system has been restructured completely under this
scheme, leaving behind its old hierarchical underpinnings. No single hero.
Or heroine ," she added pointedly. "We are an ensemble now—as in everyone
working together cooperatively and no special privileges. It'll be a hard
adjustment at first, I know," she favored him with a look of sympathy for
his pained grimace at the suggestion of team work. The rest of the
crewmembers, meanwhile, sniggered with satisfaction. "In recognition of the
new equal footing among characters, the writers met with each one of us in
private to discuss our particular interests, consider our requests and talk
about how the transition would affect us as individuals.
Which brings me my third point. I grant you that in the past meetings have
provided us with very little but a forum for the writers to issue orders and
directives while routinely turning a deaf ear to our concerns. However, this
time they have yielded us real, tangible results. The writers wanted to
bring in a new administrative arrangement to accompany the format change.
It's all to fit the innovative concept they've developed—entirely cast
produced stories occurring within the confines of a writer constructed
general environment. The storylines will arise totally out of our natural
interactions with each other, without any direct interference or constraints
from the writers. Aside from manufacturing our physical surroundings, the
only real power they preserve now that we're underway is that of introducing
freshly created characters. That was retained as a necessity, or there would
have been no new people for us to meet on our explorations. Our cooperation
was valuable to them, since our contribution is such an important part of
this, so they actually listened to us, responded to our needs. Mulder,
things are going to be so much better now for everyone. Having negotiating
power—"
"Scully, how could you negotiate with them knowing the kind of atrocities
and systematic obfuscation of the truth those men have orchestrated? We have
to bring them down from the outside, not offer conciliation. Don't you all
see? By willingly playing along with their plans you allow yourselves to be
contaminated by their evil. Compromise with these men is morally
reprehensible."
"That's easy for you to say, little writer's pet," X snarled. The erstwhile
informant was manning the defense command post at the top of the bridge. His
dark eyes glittered angrily under a high, worpled Klingon forehead.
"You're the ones in bed with the writers!" Mulder shot back after an instant
of startlement at the other man's apparent resurrection.
"No, but we are the ones they fuck over!"
"That's enough!" Scully broke in before things could escalate any further.
This was a sore spot between Mulder and the rest of the cast. He was
scornful of their continued interaction with the writers and "cowardly
toadying", seeing himself as the lone soul willing to fully commit to the
fight against injustice. After severing any direct contact with the creators
of their world in that first meeting, he had taken all his own initiative
and pursued his own rebellious plans and eccentric interests in flagrant
disregard to their authority.
Scully could see what Mulder couldn't in this. He was making a categorical
error in thinking that just because something was possible for him it must
be possible for all of them. Cast members had been created for different
things and were expected to behave accordingly. He was allowed to openly
rail against the rule-makers and challenge them at every turn because that
was what the writers had intended him to do from the very beginning. In
fact, the quickest way for him to lose his value to them would be to stop
making trouble. //Not that there's much chance of that// she thought wryly.
The others were predictably resentful from years of watching Mulder running
about unfettered by the writers' threats and commands while they themselves
suffered oppression and frustration. They saw him as a spoiled brat,
selfishly endangering everyone else for the sake of pointless private whims
and crazy crusades that he alone could afford, secure in the knowledge of
his own safety. The darling of the writers flaunting his privilege at their
expense as they were dragged along for the ride. Scully knew differently.
Mulder's recklessness and his relentless attacks on authority had more to do
with a combination of restless energy and passionate, single-minded idealism
than any confidence in his own invulnerability. Self-preservation was just
not something that entered his mind when he was fired for a cause, as she
was all too aware.
All this was more than clear to Scully. The problem was getting it through
to everyone else.
"Mulder, I'm aware of your devotion to the cause and I admire you for it,
but you need to make allowances for differences in personalities and
circumstances. Not everyone is going to view things the same as you do and
hold the same priorities. That deserves our respect."
"Other priorities—you mean taking the easy path for comfort and
convenience instead of pursuing what's right. How does that deserve anything
but my contempt?"
"If we pursue moral absolutes too rigidly, dismissing out of hand any
mediation possibilities that might ease the plight of the people on whose
behalf we claim to protest, we are liable to end up with a path strewn with
bodies and nothing to show for it but our own share of the guilt."
"How can you say that, Scully. What did they offer you to betray me?"
Scully looked pained by the accusation, but neither her gaze nor her voice
wavered. "I won't deny that I had a personal interest in the writers'
proposal. How could I not? I would like the ability to bear children, I want
a life, and they were willing to hear my wishes. There are so many things
that we've all been deprived of over the years."
"Such as truth? Justice? Freedom from being stabbed in the back by our
co-workers?"
"Such as fertility. Or sanity. Or health. Or life. Or the freedom to express
love." With that she reached out and took Skinner's hand in hers.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
"Do you have a problem, Ensign Mulder?" Skinner growled in annoyance.
"How long has this been going on for?"
"It hasn't been 'going on' at all," Scully replied with dignity. "As I was
saying, the writers wouldn't allow it and the FBI regulations were
prohibitive besides. That's not the case here. We can do as we like as far
as the writers are concerned, and it's clear from the episodes that
Federation rules don't bar crewmen from involvement with superior officers."
" That's why we're here? Why you betrayed me? So you can get it on with
Skinner?" Mulder asked in incredulous dismay.
"This wasn't a betrayal. I want what's best for you too, Mulder."
"Trust me, this isn't it."
"Frankly, I don't believe you're a good judge of that. You've never pursued
happiness. Vengeance, answers, satisfaction to curiosity—but never the
simple contentments of a good life. Not even to the extent that your quest
might allow."
"Star Trek is the recipe for happiness?"
"I think it's our best shot at it," she answered with conviction.
"If this is such a great deal why didn't you tell me about it before? Don't
you think I deserved that much consideration?" Scully's silence in the
matter hurt him. He wouldn't have expected any better from the others.
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I couldn't, not if this was going to work" her face drew
into lines of strain. "The writers 'suggested' that it was unnecessary to
let you in on it, reminding us of your volatile and impulsive personality.
Your tendency to fly off on radical courses of action."
"You kept something this important from me because of some shit the
writers said?"
"I wouldn't of if there hadn't been truth to it. You never think about what
the repercussions to your actions will be. It was inconceivable that you
would be willing to wait and plan with us, trying to find a balance between
everybody's needs and wishes."
"So you're saying it's all my fault?" Mulder asked angrily.
A resounding "Yes!" came from all corners of the bridge. Scully did not join
in.
"That's not how I look at it. You just have strengths and weaknesses like
anyone else. Those needed to be brought into account. We couldn't take the
risk with you, not given the importance of what was at stake," Scully
replied.
"She had no choice, Mulder," Skinner put in. "We needed solidarity, and
there was no chance of the others, especially those just revived after being
killed off amongst the fall out of your shenanigans, agreeing to introduce
you into the equation as a wild card factor."
"That's it then? You're all tired of my crap, so shut up, accept what I'm
handed and get happy? I'm just supposed to abandon my sister and the public
to join the search for Spock?"
"No one is being abandoned," Scully assured him. "The Star Trek cast wasn't
included in the copyright deal they arranged with Paramount, so you
definitely won't be seeing Spock. Instead this universe will be peopled
exclusively by the new creations of our writers, in addition to the members
of our own cast—every one of them, both past and present. All of the
characters from the X- Files. Alive. Think about it, Mulder—your sister,
my sister, my father, your parents..."
Mulder responded with wary interest. "So where are they? I don't see them."
"The writers wouldn't give out specific locations. We have to explore this
universe and encounter the other people here ourselves—creating our own
stories as we do it. That will form the basis of the show."
"Did they supply any location information at all?" Mulder asked doubtfully.
"Well... no. They might be right here on the ship, though."
"So she could still be anywhere in the universe."
"But now you can be certain she is alive."
"At right this moment."
"It's something , isn't it? It's more than we had."
"What about our partnership? It's over now?" His hurt was obvious. //Yeah
right, no one is being abandoned.//
"I'm still your friend, Mulder. And we'll still have a special bond between
us, too. I made sure of that. I'm your foster mother."
For a mad instant Mulder had thought Scully was going to say that the two of
them were married. Then for another mad instant he thought she had actually
said she was his foster mother .
"My what?"
"Foster mother."
"That's ridiculous," Mulder scoffed. "I'm years older than you."
"Not anymore."
"What?" Mulder spun around and tried to catch his reflection in the shiny
black surface surrounding his computer display. He did look younger. A lot
younger. His hands flew up to his face, encountering tighter skin and youth
softened features. "What the hell is going on? I look about nineteen years
old."
"The writers decided to give you an age regression. Isn't it wonderful?
You'll practically have a youth. None of us have had anything but a few
flashback memories before."
"This isn't my real age! And even if it were I'd still be too old for a
foster mother. Anyway, I thought you said that my parents are alive here?"
"The back story, according to the writers, is that your parents are very
busy with important Federation work on some distant planet and allowed me
guardianship a few years ago to advance your practical education through
travel and on board work experience."
"Why would they bother to come up with a story like that? Why turn me into a
kid in the first—" A terrible suspicion assaulted Mulder. He reviewed the
evidence with mounting dread—a kid, working on the bridge as an ensign,
who had the ship's doctor for a mother. Christ. Oh shit, his station was the
one closest to the view screen on the captain's left side. The one where
he so often sat. He shot out of his seat, backing away from it in disgust.
"Who did this to me?" Mulder demanded.
"What do you mean? The writers knew that I wanted to find some way of
preserving the special bond between us. They offered me this, and I said
yes. If you're talking about the age thing, I'm not sure why they thought to
- "
Mulder exploded with fury. "The writers! Those bastards! They're trying to
destroy me. Punishing me for defiance. They won't get away with this!"
"What's the matter with you? You're a young man and we have a close official
relationship. Those are good things."
"Don't you see what they've done? Look at the facts—young, ensign, ship's
doctor's son, working there," he thrust a savage finger towards the
incriminating computer terminal. "I'm Wesley!"
"Mulder, calm down. You're imagining things."
"Look around you, Scully. Red-haired female doctor, Klingon defense
commander, follicly challenged captain. Clearly they've been slotting us
into some roles."
"Those are just coincidences. The ship needs a doctor. I was the only major
X-Files character with a medical degree. Who else would get the position? It
also needs a captain. Walter was the most central character created to fill
a responsible administrative function. We need a defense officer. X has a
facility for strategic planning and combat."
"So if he's not supposed to be Worff then why is he a Klingon?" Mulder
challenged.
"Klingons are stronger than humans, aren't they? Again, it just makes sense
to make the defense officer as strong as you can."
"We're in the STNG universe," responded the ensign, still skeptical of her
explanations. "Defense is pressing buttons to fire laser blasts at other
ships."
"I saw enough hand to hand fighting those times we watched the show
together."
"Maybe," Mulder conceded reluctantly. "But none of that explains about me."
"That seems fairly straightforward to me too. Unlike with the three of us,
there's not any immediately obvious job for a paranormal specialist and
conspiracy fighter on board a starship. You've always been a main character,
though, and they no doubt wanted to keep you in the center of action. As a
bridge ensign you'll be in a main hub of activity, but working at a low
enough level that it doesn't really matter that you're specialized skills
aren't a good fit."
"And I'm a kid because..."
"Oh come on, Mulder, you're too smart and motivated a person to be a forty
year old ensign. Nobody would have bought that. This way it is clearly just
a starting position."
The youthful man considered her argument for a moment. "You can rationalize
it all you want, but I'm still Wesley."
"I disagree. Even if you insist on believing that, though, is it really such
a big deal?"
Mulder was aghast. "Scully, have you watched the show? He's a total geek!"
The eloquently raised brows of his captain and crewmates brought a flush to
the ensign's cheeks. "I mean not the cool kind. He doesn't have a single
redeeming anti-establishment tendency!" He collected himself with an effort,
putting on his most reasonable, persuasive, "the expenditures on the
chimpanzee phrenologists were entirely justified, sir" voice and a winning
smile. "There has been a big mistake. I'm not remotely suitable for this
part. It's so obviously apparent that I'm meant to be Kirk, as I'm sure you
can all see."
"Kirk isn't on TNG!" Scully protested.
"That's precisely my point—we shouldn't be here either. The original
series has been able to demonstrate a massive sustained appeal decade after
decade. It had a far shorter production run than TNG, thus a greater store
of unexplored story possibilities exists. TOS also had a smaller core cast,
more reminiscent of the X-Files."
"I'm not wearing one of those mini-dresses."
"Scully, don't be so selfish. Think of the general good."
"General good! You just want to be captain."
"It's not a matter of want ," Mulder replied in injured tones. "It's a
matter of calling."
"How on earth is that your calling?" Scully scoffed.
"I thought you knew me, Scully," he replied, shaking his head in mournful
disappointment. "It's perfectly clear. Kirk is my destiny. We're twin souls:
lone wolves, unstoppable forces, possessors of iron wills, leaders of some,
lovers of many, letting punches fall where they may..." The ensign's eyes
had taken on a dreamy cast, and he was oblivious to the impact his eulogy
was having on his audience.
Skinner, who had been gripped by a fit of desperate choking, at last erupted
with a harsh barking noise that interrupted his subordinate's flow of words.
"Fists falling..." The big man was seized by another fit before managing to
gasp out hoarsely, "Mulder, when have your fists made contact with anyone
without you being creamed?"
"That's unfair! It was only the other day that Krycek appeared and I—"
"Krycek!" Mulder was surprised and taken aback to see the other man fall
into another bout of explosive mirth that was echoed by other bridge
officers. He wondered darkly if Skinner had been drinking. It was a good
thing they would be changing shows and commanders soon because Skinner
plainly did not have the decorum and sound judgment for the job.
"Riiight... Krycek. Must have been hard to catch him. I'll bet he was trying
really hard to get away, huh?"
Scully elbowed Walter in the side to stop him as knowing glances were
exchanged all around the confused ensign.
"Well, he was, but once we were in the alley and had ended up against a wall
he gave up the attempt. My attacks had just tired him out so much." The
evidence of his fighting prowess did not receive the anticipated respect for
some reason. Dismayed, he felt compelled to impress upon them the gravity of
the event by adding, "He was packing, you know. I could feel it in his
pocket."
Not even Scully could hold it in at that one. She started to sputter and
choke with giggles behind the fist she had jammed into her mouth.
Mulder walked to his chair, carrying himself with immense dignity in the
midst of this cruel, inexplicable mockery. He sat down, chin held high, and
swiveled around to present his back to them, arms crossed sulkily over his
chest.
"I'm sorry, Mulder." Scully came up behind him and put a hand on his
shoulder.
"Why apologize? Obviously, grappling with armed assassins is a daily
occurrence for the rest of you."
"No, of course not. I'm sure it was really serious. We're all a little
overwrought, I think. It's been a big shake up for everyone."
He turned around to face his former partner, refusing to spare any attention
for the others yet. "That's why we should make the switch right away.
Confining it all to one day will minimize the disruption and psychological
stress for us."
"Mulder..."
"You ask me to forget about my home and my work—can't you at least let me
have some input in the alternatives?"
Scully felt guilty for all the pain this was causing her ex- partner. She
had done what she thought best for everyone, including him. Not that that
made it any easier to see him suffering. It was impossible. Change universes
now? It had all been settled and agreed on. She stared down at the imploring
young face of her best friend without knowing quite what to say.
"We are not going to make any switch," Skinner announced behind her. "The
writers have already deposited us here. Meetings have been discontinued, and
we do not even have a means of directly communicating with them."
"We could try."
"No, Mulder, and that is final. You are going to have to accept this."
"You can't unilaterally make a choice like that for everybody. This is a
cast decision, not an Enterprise decision. If we're as equal as Scully has
been claiming then there should be a vote."
Skinner heaved a mighty sigh. "Fine. Whoever wants to be part of Mulder's
love 'em and leave 'em, fight 'em up wild west show put up your hand now."
Mulder's hand was the only one raised. "OK, who would rather stay where we
are?" A sea of hands.
"You biased the vote!"
"Take a look at these people. If you honestly think you can come up with a
wording that might bring different results then be my guest."
Prepared to rise to the challenge, Mulder scanned the room. The faces of his
fellow cast mates were so closed and forbidding that his hopes for success
withered and died.
The taste of defeat bitter in his mouth, Mulder declared resentfully, "OK, I
get the picture. I don't have a single friend on this whole ship."
"Message from Engineering," a sexless, disembodied voice announced.
"Mulder? Hey, does this rock or what?" The view screen lit up with the image
of a thin, scraggly-haired blond and a small gnomish man. Both were dressed
in black and green engineering uniforms. "The computer told us where you
were and rerouted things a bit to bring ourselves up on the big screen,"
Langly boasted cheerfully without waiting for a response. "We could tell
that techno-feebs were at the controls. Hey there, Scully. Byers! Hey,
Byers, it worked! Get out here!"
"Hey, guys. You're engineers?" Mulder asked.
"We're the engineers, compadre," Frohike crowed. "Shared command of
Engineering. Howdy, Red. The Enterprise—can you believe it? We've been
waiting our whole lives for this."
"You're an ensign? Man, that kinda sucks," Langly observed. "You look a lot
younger too. Nobody else does. I wonder why they'd... holy shit," he broke
off. Langly and Frohike exchanged a look, wearing identical masks of horror
stricken realization.
Byers joined the others at that moment. "Langly, what are you talking about?
What's up with Mul..." He took in Mulder's youthful appearance, uniform and
position on the bridge. "Oh my God." He mouthed "Wesley" soundlessly to his
two companions who nodded numbly.
"Is there anything we can do for you, buddy?" Frohike asked with an awkward,
tragic air.
"Maybe you want to get loaded with us tonight?" Langly offered grimly.
"We could get you a job down here. This doesn't have to be... you don't have
to stay..." Stunned pity had Byers stumbling over the weak lifeline he was
trying to throw to his poor, doomed friend.
Mortified, Mulder threw a furious, accusing glare at Scully and Skinner.
Scully shifted her gaze uncomfortably, while Skinner just rolled his eyes in
exasperation. The big man had had enough of this absurdity. He noted with
disgust that Mulder somehow seemed to be turning this whole situation into a
drama that revolved around himself.
The pup was going to have to be whipped into shape and made to understand
that he did not have a special, pampered spot on the show anymore, Skinner
reflected. The ridiculous behavior he was accustomed to getting away with
could not continue. This sort of self-aggrandizing had no place here. True,
an ensemble had to have a leader and front person, someone prepared to guide
the others with a firm yet fair hand and provide a stable focus for the
audience at home. It wasn't the kind of role that could be filled by a
whiney, troublesome agent-turned-ensign, however. No, the prominence would
have to be given to a person who would serve as a strong example of duty and
responsibility. Of course, it only stood to reason that it should be someone
at a position of top- level decision making which would afford sufficient
opportunity for demonstrations of his stalwort bravery and impeccable moral
fiber.
Pulling himself back to the matter at hand, Skinner remembered that the
three weirdos on the screen blithely ignoring their commander were going to
have to be taught their place as well.
"This interruption is over. This is my bridge. You will address
communications you have with the bridge to me or whichever officer I have
officially delegated command to. Communications will be strictly business
related and there will be no further commandeering of our computer
functions."
"Fascist," Langly sneered.
Frohike was livid with outrage. "Look you pompous wind bag, our friend there
has just suffered a fate worse than death and I think you'd better—"
Byers threw a hand over Frohike's raging mouth. "Really, Mulder, it's fine.
I'm sure no one will even notice—"
"- and how far do you think you'll be getting without us, huh? Nobody else
has the faintest idea how to operate this crate!" Frohike had shoved Byers
aside to continue his rant.
"Bet you're all wishing now that you hadn't made fun of us for reading those
official fan Starfleet technical manuals," Langly added smugly. "What's he
in charge for, anyway? You guys should've went with TOS like we told you."
"Exactly!" Mulder was pleased to hear someone talking sense. "That's what I
was saying."
"Yeah, then we could've been Kirk!"
"All of you?" Mulder asked incredulously, a little put out that they hadn't
noticed he was the natural candidate for the part.
"Byers and I would have flipped for it."
"Frohike didn't want it?" Mulder responded in surprise.
"He wouldn't accept the fact that the show wasn't going to be blended with
Flesh Gordon, and refused to discuss any other options," Byers informed him.
"That's not true, I was willing to talk about a X-Files/TOS/Flesh mix. I'm
always open to three ways involving plenty of space vixens," Frohike claimed
in a sleazy tone, waggling his eyebrows at Scully.
Skinner cleared his throat loudly and angrily. "You may possess technical
know-how, but I hold ultimate official authority on this vessel. As my
officers it is your duty to use that knowledge as I see fit. Any further
continuation of your mutinous actions and threats will have you up on court
martial charges at Starfleet Command." The ex-marine part of Skinner's
psyche was emerging and flexing its muscles, comfortable and pleased to be
in a situation where military discipline and order applied.
"Right, like you know anything about Starfleet regulations," Langly
retorted.
"You're lucky we stepped in. If we hadn't been localizing control functions
to Engineering God knows what would be left of the ship. The instructions we
could read coming from the bridge were a senseless, conflicting mess," Byers
put in.
"That's an unlikely excuse. The cast members with me have researched their
jobs and were looking very competent."
"Maybe they were looking it, but they sure as hell weren't. You. Yeah,
that's right, you." Frohike stabbed a finger at a spindly, teenaged crewman
who was watching the exchange from his post at one of the computer terminals
along the back wall. Mulder recognized the earnest-faced kid as the one who
had been abducted with his girlfriend on that case Jose Chung wrote the
shitty book about. His mental files provided the name Harold Lamb. The young
man was frozen like a frightened rabbit. "What have you been doing there,
eh?"
"Um, working my station?" Harold suggested hopefully.
"Actually you have been requesting emergency defense power to be drawn from
the reactor core which has nowhere to go because the shields aren't up.
Aside from the risks associated with draining the core, the pressure of the
stored up energy alone could've blown up the ship. Oh, and you've also been
opening and closing the shuttle bay doors," Langly told him with a smirk.
"So what was the brilliant strategy behind those commands?" Frohike
demanded.
"Er, I was pressing the yellow and orange buttons," Harold muttered, face
aflame with embarrassment.
"Sound operational procedure. Where exactly in your research did you learn
that?"
"I couldn't tell what they were doing back here when I watched the shows!"
The young man cried out desperately in self-defense. "Hardly any screen time
was spent on any of the computers operations. It's only a TV show anyway. I
thought they were probably just pressing anything."
"Does that go for the rest of you too?" Skinner asked in dismay. The sinking
feeling in his gut grew as the downcast eyes all around him convinced him
that it did. "This used to be 'only a TV show', but now it's life for us,
people. This is our story universe, our reality. Of course how the ship
works matters. Just like our old universe, everything here is controlled by
rational systems and science."
"That's very logocentric of you, sir," Mulder piped up indignantly. "As I
think I demonstrated in our case reports over the years—"
"Shut up, Wesley!" Skinner snapped in irritation, earning an injured gasp
from Mulder and a black reproachful look from Scully, protective as ever of
the former agent. He pinched the bridge of his nose where a monster headache
was forming. Noticing Dana's continued look of disapproval he grated out a
sorry to her irritating ex-partner. Wasn't she supposed to be on his side?
Why couldn't the woman show him a little support? "Mulder, I meant to say
Mulder. So none of you actually know what to do? What about you, Mulder?
You're a big Star Trek fan—do you know how to steer the ship?"
Still wounded and sulky, Mulder shook his head. "I just watched the show— no in depth technical research. I haven't touched anything, though. We
should still be going wherever we were to start with, unless the Gunmen have
changed it."
Skinner turned to the screen and demanded balefully, "Did you?"
"No. We can, though, so command, O Great Poobah. Where do you want to go?"
Frohike asked with a slightly malicious glint in his eyes.
"Uhm... onward."
Mulder lifted an eyebrow, "Isn't that a little vague, sir?"
"We're looking for strange new worlds and to meet new lifeforms and
civilizations. That doesn't require very precise directions does it,
Ensign?"
Before Mulder could reply, Frohike cut in saying, "Right, but first you want
to boldly go over to Axothea V where we're expected show up in a few hours.
Otherwise you'll be explaining to the General why you disregarded the direct
order in his message dated from a week ago to pick up the delegates for the
Federation- Cardassian Tolerance and Trade Conference."
"You've been going through my correspondence?"
"Somebody had to. Do you want to know the rest of our orders?"
"Tell me," Skinner hissed between clenched teeth.
"After picking them up, we host their preliminary discussions on board, then
drop them off at a larger interstellar conference in the Dracon system. You
are to attend the discussions along with other select high-level officers— oh, and Mulder," Byers told him.
"Mulder?" Skinner growled suspiciously.
Langly responded, "Yeah, it's strange, but there's been a standing order
issued by someone named Supreme Commander Karterr that Mulder attends all
negotiations and official receptions ship's personnel are involved in and
participates actively in all away team operations."
"Supreme Commander Carter," Skinner repeated, his headache becoming nearly
blinding.
"Yeah, K-A-R-T-E-R-R," Langly supplied "Wild, huh? Since when has there been
a Supreme Commander of the Federation? It checked out, though. Not an
X-Files name. He must be one of the new characters they've made, same as
this General Gylligan."
"So essentially Mulder has to be included in all of our public relations?"
Suddenly Skinner was feeling less optimistic about the new arrangement.
"Essentially," Byers confirmed. He held up something that looked like an
oversized calculator and read off, "...In order that he might reap the full
benefits of his experience as befitting a very promising young man and in
respect for the wishes of his esteemed father, the Colonel."
Unhappy stir and mutterings sprung up in the bridge.
"Terrific," X spat. "Look whose still their little prince."
"But how could they be...?" Scully started, before comprehension dawned.
"Damn. They don't have to be here. They have no limits on the characters
they can make—or who they can model them after."
"Proxies," Skinner stated grimly.
"People designed to have the same priorities as them," she nodded uneasily.
//Like making sure there's no chance of things running smoothly for us on
the ship. Wouldn't make for good viewing. Mulder and public relations,// she
mused, almost smiling despite herself. //Poor Walter.// "Well, we're still
better off than before. It's a more even match—these are just other
fictives like ourselves we'll be dealing with. And so far it's nothing
terrible."
"Speak for yourself. I'm the one stuck going to a bunch of stuffy meetings,"
Mulder moaned. "As if the rest of it wasn't bad enough."
"You guys didn't actually trust the writers did you? It was pretty obvious
they weren't really going to let us off that easy," Frohike admonished
them, shaking his head at their folly.
"We loaded up some files in your Ready Room about the Cardassian Empire and
the issues of the conference," Byers told Skinner, preempting what looked
likely to be a savage response from the Captain to Frohike's comments.
"Yeah, go read them," Langly advised. "You're supposed to talk at this
thing, and I don't want someone clueless representing me. Cardassians are
mean ass dudes—especially if you were naïve enough to trust the
writers ."
"Take us to the planet—and I'm putting marks of insubordination on your
files."
"Oh yeah? Try to find them!" Frohike jeered.
"Guys, did you find anything in the computer about my sister?" Mulder
interrupted.
"No, I'm sorry, man. We can tell you she's not a member of Starfleet or
listed as a known resident of any Federation colony in the files."
"I knew it couldn't be that easy," the ensign remarked dourly.
"Mulder," Byers said. "Langly is setting in the destination, so the best
thing would be for you to set the ship on automatic pilot. We'll light up
the right keys on you computer display in sequence for you to hit, then
you'll know them for next time."
Mulder watched the keyboard then followed the blinking lights to hit the
correct buttons.
"Well, it's been real, but we have work to do," Frohike told them.
"See you, Mulder. You'll get through this, amigo," Langly bid him goodbye,
holding up a bony fist of encouragement.
The screen returned to a view of the stars as the Gunmen signed off.
Mulder let out a moan and dropped his head against his console with an
audible thunk.
"Well, I guess I'll be too busy sewing name tags on my underwear tonight to
make that meeting."
"You're looking at this in the wrong way," Scully protested.
"What other way is there? I have just received the condolences of the
Gunmen on my geekiness"
"Quit sulking, Mulder. I've had enough of this," Skinner stated firmly.
"You've had enough? What about me?!? I'm not staying like this. I don't see
any Rikers. I'll be him." The idea had some appeal. Riker was pretty much
the "Kirk" character of TNG.
"Look again, little boy." Tom Colton stepped out from among the others. He
stroked a lazy finger along the triple badge of the First Commander
displayed on his collar. "Welcome to the new order, Ensign Mulder," he
taunted with a malignant leer and gloating smile.
"Son of a bitch. How can that pea-brained brown-noser be second in command?"
Mulder demanded from Skinner. "I'd be much better for the part than him."
"Sure you would. You're so cooperative and dedicated to observing procedure
and protocol." Skinner wasn't thrilled about Colton either, but his mind
boggled and stomach lurched at the notion of Mulder as his Number One. He
had a nightmarish vision of leaving the man in charge for a few hours only
to return and find the ship was now galaxies away on the trail of fabled
invisible, brain- sucking leprechauns.
"Give it up, Mulder, you're a screw up," Colton chimed in with a hateful
glint in his eye. "And you better watch it, boy , or I'll have you
scrubbing latrines with your tongue."
The ensign glared at Colton before turning back to his captain. "Let me show
you. I'll behave! I promise."
"No, you wouldn't," Scully contradicted, her comment softened by a gentle,
affectionate smile. "You're inherently disruptive, Mulder, it's your
nature."
"I don't have to be," he argued desperately. "I'll try really hard to be
boring."
"You can't deny who you are. You'd be miserable, and it wouldn't do any good
anyway. Even when you're not actively cultivating it, disorder just springs
up around you."
"What are you talking about?"
The little metal communicator on Mulder's chest let out a beep. Years of
Star Trek viewing prompted him to tap it automatically.
"Mulder."
"Hey, man. If we start piping in some music over the on board speakers what
would you want up there?"
Mulder grinned mischievously before catching the significant looks Skinner
and Scully, both within range and listening, were giving him. Chastened and
hoping to prove his point, he replied, "Let's not do that, OK guys? Not
until there's permission issued."
Raucous laughter could be heard through the device. "Are you sure this is
Mulder? That was a good one. I'm glad you're keeping up your sense of humor.
Talking about jokes, can you believe that Scully has taken up with that
uptight jerk? I bet they take turns swatting each other's bare asses with
rulers."
Skinner's face was purpling and the veins on his forehead were standing out.
"Um, Langly? This isn't the best time."
"Sure. Talk to you later. Remember the offer for tonight is still open. Oh,
and Frohike says to tell Scully to come down here when she's ready for a
real man."
The communication ended, plunging the room into a moment of dangerous
silence.
"Give me your communicator, Ensign," Skinner ground out in smoldering fury.
"But that wasn't my—"
"Give it me!"
The fierce bellow got Mulder up onto his feet. He meekly removed the device
and handed it over.
"I suggest that you leave the bridge now. Dr. Scully will escort you."
"You're turning me out of the bridge?" Scully asked sharply.
"I'm asking you to take your son to his quarters so we can concentrate on
the actual business of running the ship." The dark look in Dana's eyes did
not bode well for their long awaited passionate evening together. He took a
moment to get his temper fully under control. "Dr. Scully, wouldn't you like
to inspect your sickbay offices and get settled in? You could drop him off
on the way... if you wouldn't mind."
Scully gave a small, somewhat mollified smile. "Yes, Captain." Then she left
the command center with her former partner in tow.
The ex-agents used Scully's communicator to gain directions to sickbay from
the Gunmen. As they traveled down the corridor Mulder noticed a number of
unfamiliar faces among the people passing by. Given his eidetic memory, he
could be certain they were not X- Files characters. Even without that mental
resource he would have marked them out from the rest, though, by the
confidence with which they navigated about the ship and conducted their
activities. It was only natural—they were where they belonged. He scowled
and quickened his pace, forcing Scully to struggle to keep up.
"You couldn't tell me about this because I have authority issues, but you
told the Gunmen . That makes a lot of sense."
"We didn't tell them. They just found out somehow. You should know what
they're like by now. They must have used bugs or hacked the writers'
computers or something. They don't come to meeting any more than you do."
"Good thing for the ship they landed themselves in Engineering. You guys
claim to have thought this through? They should get some of these Star Trek
people on the bridge. Then the ship might actually avoid bursting into an
inferno when one of the Gunmen has to use the can. On second thought, let's
not worry about that. It's looking like my only escape from this
humiliation."
"I wish you'd give this a chance... Star Trek people? I thought I didn't
recognize some of them."
"They were designed for this place, unlike us. They'd have the appropriate
skills and knowledge. Just like we did back home . You can tell if you
watch them."
Scully could see what he was talking about now that she was alerted to it.
The unfamiliar characters moved about with an ease and purpose the others
lacked.
"You're right. I should tell Walter—we can have the Star Trek people train
the X-Files ones," Scully said with palpable relief. "We can hardly go on
indefinitely with the ship's entire operation dependent on three men."
She tapped her communicator.
"Dr. Scully to Captain Skinner."
"Skinner."
"Sir, there are newly created characters amongst the crew who seem to be
acquainted with the equipment and job duties. They have been made to fit
their roles here. If we could set up a match program, the Star Trek
crewmembers should be able to teach the X-Filers how to perform their
responsibilities."
"Let me consult the crew roster."
There was a lengthy pause.
"You're right, a large number of new names have added themselves to the
list. I'll take up your suggestion for the training program immediately.
Thank-you, that was sharp thinking, Dr. Scully."
"Actually, it was Mulder's idea."
That information brought an incoherent grumbling in response.
"I hope it works. Scully out," she signed off.
"Uh-oh, I think Dad is pissed, Mom," Mulder tossed over sarcastically.
"You're always pushing him."
"It's not my fault if the man can't handle any diversity of opinion... oh no,
does this mean I won't get to borrow the space cruiser tonight?"
"You're right. You don't provoke people at all."
"I've had plenty of provocation myself today."
"You're not the only one," she reminded him irritably. "Keep this up and I'm
liable to take a ruler to your bare ass."
"You can save the cheap come ons. Leave me out of your sordid affairs,
Red ," Mulder responded with a disdainful sniff, using the nickname that he
knew bugged her. "Speaking of which, why did you get them to change my eyes?
Why that of all things? You know it's never been a big concern for me."
Looking up into his hazel gaze, Scully asked in confusion, "What do you
mean? Your eyes are the same."
"No, they aren't." He reached out to tug lightly on a hank of her bright
hair. "This looks different now. Not gray. And the Gunmens' uniforms were
strange too. Something I've never seen before."
"You're seeing red and green now?"
"I guess so. Something's different."
"That never came up in our talks. Maybe the writers decided to do it on
their own."
"Now I'm sure something is up. Why would they alter something so minor?
Something that isn't even visible to the audience?"
"A show of good will, maybe?" Scully offered doubtfully.
"Yeah, right."
"Why don't you let me examine you in sickbay? We can at least establish what
has happened to you."
"Will you know what you're doing?"
"Not yet."
Contacting the bridge again, she requested to have one of the Star Trek
characters on the medical staff sent to meet them in her offices.
Medical Assistant Pendrell straightened his lab coat fretfully as he
arranged himself in front of the equipment assembled on the counter. On
finding the impressive looking gear in a cabinet he had laid it out in the
hopes of presenting a scene of casual activity to his immediate supervisor
when she arrived. He hurriedly wiped off his sweaty palms, concerned about
how she might regard the slippery evidence of his nervousness if they were
to shake hands, or clasp arms, or, dear God, hug in greeting.
He couldn't believe his good fortune. He was an active character again, back
from what the writers referred to as "mandatory retirement". Not only that,
but he had been placed in the ideal situation—the role of his dreams. He
was laboratory assistant to Dr. Dana Scully. They would actually be working
together in the same room. He envisioned them bouncing ideas off of each
other, sharing private jokes, leaning close together over microscopes as
their hands brushed when both reaching to adjust the slide...
Yes, life was perfect.
The writers had even agreed to grant him a first name. He had felt his
deficiency keenly—how could Scully ever be on a truly personal, intimate
basis with someone without a first name? He would let her use it too, not
like that coldly superior, unappreciative Mulder. No, it would be Dana and
———, laughing warmly, enjoying the wonders of science.
He had been promised that as soon as someone inquired after his complete
name it would be provided for him, springing into existence from the
writers' creative arts. All he had to do now was wait for someone to ask for
a full introduction. How long could that take? Just until someone took
interest and tried to get to know him more closely. It would quite probably
occur when Scully came through that door. They were essentially going to be
partners here after all.
Pendrell shivered with excitement wondering what his new name would be.
Something Irish, he thought. Clearly his red hair and light complexion left
no other viable conclusion than Irish Catholic descent. The writers would
have to acknowledge that. Patrick or Sean, maybe. Perhaps something a little
exotic and daring like Liam or Seamus. Mr. Sean Pendrell and Miss Dana
Scully cordially invite you to attend the joyous occasion of their nuptials,
being performed in a Catholic service. Mr. And Mrs. Liam and Dana Pendrell
are pleased to announce the event of the baptism of the fourth child born to
their enormous, deliriously happy, uni-denominational, papally approved
family.
All this was a possibility too, now that a certain barrier was out of the
way. Mulder would no longer be around monopolizing Scully's time and
attention anymore. He had often thought longingly that if only he could show
Scully who he was and what he could offer then he might stand a chance with
her. But always those momentous occasions when she came to his lab were
blighted by her partner. Even when he wasn't there in person to make
Pendrell self- conscious and clumsy with his amused, conceited glances and
comments, his specter hung over everything. Scully was forever distracted
and in a rush to meet Mulder's needs or cope with some dangerous situation
he had landed her in.
Pendrell had learned of the age regression and bottom rung starting position
intended for Mulder. The shoe would be on the other foot now, he reflected
triumphantly. Pendrell was now the person of significance, the mature man
with the important job and place in Scully's life. Meanwhile Mulder would
learn how it feels to be on the outside, exploited in thankless work and
disregarded as a green, inept kid. A humbled baby Mulder wouldn't be able to
waltz about glibly tossing arrogant dismissals, looking down his long nose
at others and carelessly disrupting the course of true love.
The writers had proved themselves to be just and generous beings after all.
Any moment now his Irish goddess would glide through those doors. Their eyes
would meet across the room and she would say...
"Mulder, I had you in mind when I made this decision." The ex- partners
swept through the parting doors fiercely embroiled in conversation.
"Really? Because I got the distinct feeling it was Skinner you had in mind,"
Mulder accused, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his
chest.
"It's not like that," Scully came up and laid a dainty hand on his arm. "I
won't deny that I'm interested in Walter and wanted an opportunity to be
with him, but that does nothing to change the bond we've shared all these
years. Nothing could."
A tiny squeak like the noise of a distressed mouse came from somewhere in
the lab. It wasn't enough to break the intense interaction between the
former partners.
"That's not what it looks like from here. Was it really so bad going on
investigations with me?" Mulder looked like a miserable little boy, pulling
more than ever at Scully's mothering instincts. His large eyes were shadowed
with pain and rejection.
"No, of course no," she reassured him. "It was the rest of it that was the
problem. I just couldn't see either one of us finding satisfaction in our
quest or personal happiness under that system."
"Well, thanks a lot. I sure am happy now," he replied, fire creeping into
his tone. "You deliberately excluded me from having any say in this, and
look what happened to me!"
Scully cast an eye over her new foster son. He was a beautiful young man.
Shining chestnut hair, deep hazel eyes, pouting lips and long legs. His
clear skin was unlined and his fit body was tighter and more supple as
revealed by his close fitting uniform. He had always been attractive, but
now he had the radiance of youth as well. It suited him, matching boyish and
vulnerable qualities that were always lying just beneath his surface. She
found herself thinking of the small wrinkles and sags becoming evident on
her own body.
"How terrible for you," she observed a trifle dryly. "Maybe you're not
impressed with the results, but you probably had stronger representation
than anyone else on the show. I scrutinized any and every matter I thought
might have bearing on you. There was also strong reason to believe
that... another party... was making your interests central to their
negotiations."
"My parents were worried about me? Maybe that's why they're so far away from
me—they had to work some sort of trade in the negotiations."
Scully was pained by the note of desperate hope in his voice. Those
heartless bastards she thought angrily, mentally condemning both the
indifferent, selfish pair and the writers who had consigned her sensitive
friend to them in the first place. She wouldn't lie, but it wasn't in her to
disappoint him on this either. He wanted to believe in their love so badly.
"How about we get you set up for the tests a bit. The assistant should be
getting here any moment."
"Scully, I mean Dr. Scully, I'm already here." They turned in some surprise
to see Pendrell standing just behind them, looking a bit pale and wan.
"Oh, hello Pendrell. I didn't see you there."
"Hello, Dr. Scully."
He continued to look at her with a certain air of expectancy.
After a few moments of this, Scully ventured, "It's good to see you again. I
see we'll be working together."
"It's really good to see you too. Yes, we will be. I'm excited by the
opportunity."
A lazy drawl commented, "I wouldn't let yourself become to excited around
Scully these days. She's got a new ruler she's itching to try out on
somebody." The remark earned Mulder a dainty Scully elbow in his side.
Pendrell was flushing a bright red when the doors swished open behind them.
"Dr. Scully, it's an honor to meet you," enthused the plump, fifty-ish woman
with salt and pepper hair who scuttled forward to shake her hand. "I'm Med.
Assistant Aubrey Chambers. I couldn't believe it when I heard you were
joining us amid the new replacement crew."
"Got things set up pretty nicely for yourself, don't you?" Mulder muttered
accusingly to his former partner.
Scully shot him a quelling look. "It's lovely to meet you, Assistant
Chambers. I need your help in examining this crewman's eyes. I'm a little
unfamiliar with the technology you use on this ship."
"Call me Aubrey. Captain Skinner was explaining to us how your last ship was
terribly outdated." Her eyes lit with recognition when she looked at the
youthful Mulder. "Oh, you must be the foster son we've heard such exciting
reports about. Imagine, already an ensign on a Federation flagship at your
age. I hear you're stationed on the bridge too. Everybody expects great
things of you, young Fox."
"Please, call me Mulder."
"Isn't that a little formal, dear?" Aubrey asked the sweet-faced boy,
restraining an amused smile.
"It's a guy thing. Ask Pendrell here."
She laughed. "If that's the way you two want it then, darling. Nice to meet
you, Assistant Pendrell. I'm sure you will have an opportunity to become
acquainted with the rest of our sickbay team soon."
"Team?" Pendrell asked faintly.
"Yes, of course. We could hardly operate a busy 24 hour clinic and research
lab between just the three of us! There are eight other assistants. Dr.
Scully, I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear that there's a private office and
examination room through that door there, so you know we won't be under your
feet all the time. My goodness, who left the automatic enema apparatus on
the counter here?" She followed Mulder and Scully's gazes over to Pendrell.
"Are you feeling all right? You look a bit green. Are you having a little
problem, dear?"
Pendrell fled into the samples room, releasing a choked cry.
"You'll find a washroom to your left, Assistant Pendrell!" Aubrey called to
the vanished man. "Probably his system is just a bit upset from the journey
here," she suggested to the others. "Now, Mulder , how about you sit on the
stool here while I get the equipment out. What exactly did you want to look
for, Dr. Scully?"
Between them, Scully and Aubrey determined that Mulder's color disorder had
definitely been corrected. His eyes showed signs of having undergone a
procedure to induce some of his cones into acting like the ones he was
deficient in. Aubrey took this as a matter of course. According to her, it
was standard practice to perform such a procedure at birth on people with
color disorders. When they were finished Scully brought Mulder into her
private office for a moment alone.
"That procedure was never mentioned on TNG."
"Maybe not specifically, but the technology was so advanced that it's easy
to think they would have arrived at something like this for color
blindness."
"Yeah, it fits, but the point is that it didn't exist. Our writers would
have had to make it up. Plus they visited it on me themselves instead of
letting me find out about it and make the decision for myself. Avoiding the
possibility I might opt out. Something's fishy. Why the hell would anyone
else care whether I can see red and green?"
"There doesn't appear to be any way to know. Right now it seems like a
blessing."
"Everything's coming up roses. Well, no need to worry about me. I'm sure you
want to get on with making your new life," he said with bitterness.
"Look, Mulder, I want you to know that I'm still here for you regardless of
whatever happens in my relationship with Walter. I don't want you to feel
alone. There's no reason why any of us have to be lonely anymore." Scully
gave him a strange look and continued hesitantly, "I know you're
uncomfortable and upset about all this right now, but I hope you'll try to
stay open to... certain future opportunities... that might present themselves
here. Try to understand that there were some whose actions were very closely
bound before by threats to their well-being... and that of loved ones.
Remember that this is everyone's chance for a new life."
"Scully, I have no idea what you are getting at," Mulder told her
impatiently. "If you're thinking that I'm going to be tossing back brews
with conspiracist garbage, though, you are sadly mistaken."
"Oh... it's nothing, nevermind." She shook off her seriousness and patted his
hand. "I should get to work sorting out my office and you better get ready
for the talks tonight."
The ensign moaned dejectedly. "Thanks for reminding me. Bye, Scully... oh,
um, this whole foster family thing—we aren't rooming together are we?"
Mulder asked, a little agitated by the notion. "I need my own space
for... personal reflection."
"Don't worry, Mulder. I insisted on being assigned to separate suites.
Knowing you as I do, I didn't want to risk having the fruits of your
reflections stain my couch," Scully smirked.
"Save your dirty imagination for Mr. Clean up there," he returned in feigned
offence, lips drawing into a reluctant smile. "See you later."
Her eyes followed his lovely, pert young ass as it retreated into the hall.
A sigh of envy escaped from her mouth. What was I thinking during those
negotiations?.
"Higher emotions from a consortium member," Mulder snorted to himself out in
the corridor. "I'll believe that when I see it."
He stopped a "native" Star Trekker walking by to get help finding his
quarters. She used a nearby computer terminal to check for them. Deck 4,
unit number 222. Hardy har har. Then he got her to bring up a plan of the
ship for him. The indelible imprint his eidetic memory took of the map
allowed him to negotiate the ship with relative confidence.
When he finally arrived at the place he had to ask for help again to find
the open and close buttons on the control panel beside the door. Entrance
portals on private rooms didn't have the automatic sensory devices for
admittance that the public ones did.
Thanking the officer for his assistance, Mulder hit the close button on the
inside panel and turned around to bleakly survey his new apartment.
"How homey," he muttered, examining the Spartan, supra-ultra modern dé cor.
Everything had a spare, standardized look to it that he hated. No
personality. The colors were relentlessly, offensively neutral. The
furniture was all made of something that resembled arborite. Not a decent
bit of clutter in sight, either.
The entrance brought you right into the living room. Off to his right was a
dining area with what appeared to be a food replicator. He experimented with
it a bit, but his stomach wouldn't even consider the chore of digestion
under the circumstances. To the left was a bedchamber. Inside was a fair
sized bed with no headboard covered by a precisely tucked beige coverlet. It
was set between two broad beige bedside tables. Again the arbarite stuff.
Investigating the closet, dresser and wardrobe he was dismayed to encounter
nothing but a number of neatly stored outfits identical to the ugly common
issue uniform he had on already. Where was the Armani retailer on this ship?
He drifted back to the living room and poked around at the computer built
into the off-beige desk there. Getting up and rechecking the rooms he
confirmed with growing depression the total absence of vital necessities of
life like a TV set and internet access. Phone sex was out too, he recalled.
Why had he ever thought of this as a positive vision of the future?
He listlessly plodded back to the desk to try the computer again. The
controls were pretty incomprehensible, but he found that it responded to
some oral commands. He managed to locate in its files a children's program
for introduction to color. Insatiable curiosity stirred, Mulder was
temporarily distracted from his dismal situation. He explored various shades
of red and green, marveling that so much could have been right in front of
his eyes all this while but lost to his perceptions. Cool, bright, hot,
mellow—different shades inspiring different feelings. Beautiful really.
Green Gorn. Red photon torpedo. Green Klingon Bird of Prey. Red planetary
ring. Each picture was accompanied by the name of the color in big letters.
Eventually the novelty wore off. Mulder retreated to the low,
stiff-cushioned tan couch to once again sink into misery, trying to figure
out how the hell his life had been so completely turned upside down and what
this would ultimately mean. He continued to lie there, mind whirling in
circles, until fetched to join the group that would meet with the enemy.
X-Trek
by Goblin McGee
The bridge of the Enterprise was manned by eager crewmembers all busy about
the chores of their respective stations. All busy about chores, that is,
except for one slender dark-haired boy who was occupied instead in craning
his neck around to take in his surroundings.
