From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
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   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 02  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
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   Dulles Airport   
   Dulles, Virginia   
   Tuesday, June 2, 1998   
   10:54 pm   
      
   Overhead, the illuminated hands clutching a seat belt switched from orange to   
   grey, so the partners rose to begin retrieving their luggage from the elevated   
   bins, he passing down her laptop bag before hauling out his own backpack. The   
   summertime    
   thunderstorms that had looked so menacing as they had crossed over the Norfolk   
   area had offered a light-show and some impressive rumbles as the pilot had   
   diverted around them. But there had been no significant turbulence, which had   
   been a great relief to    
   the diminutive agent.   
      
   She tucked the brown folders under the computer in the main compartment, then   
   slid the strap over her shoulder, but held onto the Cavalli-Sforza as she   
   waited beside him for the passenger compartment doors to open. "So, Mulder,   
   any thoughts?"   
      
   The dark-haired man pressed himself against the opposite seats so she could   
   step ahead of him, resting his hand on her shoulder briefly as the aisle   
   cleared ahead. "Six months, Scully."   
      
   She smiled up at him gently. "Yes, it'll feel like Santorini when you step   
   out, but give it another six months..."   
      
   He sent her a lop-sided grin. "You'll be hopping on a plane to head east, come   
   January, won't you?" After the homeless case and the trips to the Arctic, he   
   knew she had very little patience with the cold and the dark.   
      
   She shook her head as she stepped into the elevated bus that would take them   
   to the terminal. "No. We need to get to work. There is too much at stake."   
   They found spaces on one of the short center benches, then waited for the rest   
   of the passengers to    
   fill the transport.   
      
   He picked up a Washington Post that had been shoved under the seat by a   
   previous occupant. The A section, opened to page 6, was folded in quarters on   
   itself, framing the continuation of a story on the rising "Earth First"   
   movement. This was not the    
   radical environmental group, but a loose coalition of organizations that had   
   appropriated the name, promoting an isolationism that was coalescing in some   
   areas of the country into a reaction against further planetary exploration. As   
   he scanned the text,    
   he felt his partner leaning against him, then she placed a hand on his arm to   
   move the paper down where she could read, too. Enjoying the intensity of her   
   focus, he smiled down at the auburn crown, fearing there would be few quiet   
   moments like this in    
   their future.   
      
   Both red eyebrows furrowed, she raised her green-blue eyes to his hazel ones.   
   "I wonder if he's the one behind this."   
      
   Mulder sighed, then responded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or, whether   
   he'll exploit it for his own ends, just as the Four tried to exploit the   
   Neo-Nazis. The demographics are remarkably similar." The bus began backing   
   away from the plane, so they    
   grasped the nearest hand-rails as it swayed while lowering to the ground.   
      
   The older, balding businessman in a rumpled tan suit, who had sat across the   
   aisle from them during the flight, leaned over. "Are you finished with that?"   
      
   Mulder looked down at his partner, who nodded, so he handed the paper away.   
      
    The older man settled, but, when his gaze fell on the article they were   
   reading, he tossed the pages contemptuously on the plastic cushion beside him.   
   "The whole world is crazy these days."   
      
   The agents exchanged a glance, but kept silent, not knowing what to expect   
   next.   
      
   "Aliens! Is this the best distraction Clinton can come up with? We know he's   
   up to no good, just like he was in Arkansas." The businessman shook his head.   
   "I hear things from the Little Rock office. Shady real estate deals we should   
   be investigating,    
   those bimbos of his, Hillary." He sneered at the petite woman. "You're   
   probably a big supporter of hers, aren't you?"   
      
   One auburn eyebrow arched. "The Bureau is apolitical, Sir. We identify,   
   arrest, and convict any wrongdoers, regardless of party, gender, religion, or   
   orientation. We solve crimes and serve and protect the American people."   
      
   Mulder was unable to tip his head far enough forward to read his partner's   
   face in such confined space, but, could imagine the Look she was boring into   
   the older passenger. So he was not surprised, when he turned, to see the   
   businessman leaning back in    
   his seat to put distance between them. Further, he suspected the words, spoken   
   with the simple authority of any agent in the FBI, were striking a deep   
   incongruity in the psyche of the balding man.   
      
   The disoriented entrepreneur huffed, rubbed his eyes under his thick lenses,   
   then glared at the dark-haired agent. "You don't let her boss you around, do   
   you? Wives shouldn't be in charge of anything other than baking lemon squares   
   and scrubbing toilets."   
      
   Mulder's eyes cooled to their greyest, but he matched his partner's   
   self-control, offering only a single shake of his head in response.   
      
   Now the older passenger was infuriated. "You do, don't you? Bet she makes more   
   money that you do, too. That's wrong. That's wrong for America." He tossed the   
   Post onto the next seat. "That's wrong for the world." He yanked his suit bag   
   from its fold on    
   his lap, then stalked to one of the doors in the line built into the right   
   side of the bus, which was approaching the terminal.   
      
   The dark-haired man leaned over his partner as they began gathering their own   
   luggage from around their feet, stacking them into pyramids to make them easy   
   to heft. "I don't think we can blame Old Smokey for that finely-calibrated   
   conspiracy theory,    
   Scully."   
      
   Suitably laden with wide black padded straps, she rose. "Or, for how people   
   only see the truths they want to see, Mulder. That never changes."   
      
   He placed a dramatic hand on his chest in mock offense, then nodded as he   
   stepped along behind her while they waited to exit.   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Apartment 5   
   Alexandria, VA   
   Wednesday, June 3, 1998   
   7:12 am   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)