From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
   =====o============================o=====   
   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 11  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
   =====o============================o=====   
      
   Chapter III –  Checkmate   
      
   -----o------------------------------------o-----   
      
   Black Champion: Sir, do you play chess, Sir?   
     The Prisoner: Yes.   
   Black Champion: Come and join us.   
            Queen: I am the Queen, come and be    
                   the Queen's Pawn.   
     The Prisoner: Right. Uh, who's he?   
            Queen: I'll answer that as we play.   
   White Champion: Pawn to King's Four.   
     The Prisoner: Well?   
            Queen: He's the champion.   
   Black Champion: Pawn to King's Four.   
     The Prisoner: Who *was* he?   
            Queen: Hard to say.   
   White Champion: Knight to Queen's Bishop's Three.   
            Queen: I've heard rumors.   
     The Prisoner: Such as?   
            Queen: Ex-count.   
   Black Champion: Knight to Knight's Bishop's Three.   
     The Prisoner: From?   
            Queen: Don't know.   
   White Champion: Knight to Knight's Five.   
            Queen: Ancestors used to play using    
                   their retainers -   
   Black Champion: Bishop to Knight's Five.   
            Queen: - as chess pieces. They say they    
                   Were beheaded as they were wiped    
                   from the board.   
     The Prisoner: Charming.   
            Queen: Oh, don't worry; it's not allowed here.   
   White Champion: Knight to King's Bishop's Three.   
     The Prisoner: Who is Number One?   
            Queen: It doesn't do to ask questions.   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
                                                                                     
                                 Checkmate   
      
   -----o------------------------------------o-----   
      
   Fenleyding, Northumbria   
   Sunday, June 7, 1998   
   3:03 pm   
      
   The dark-haired man, waiting by the helicopter pad in the side-yard, was   
   pacing in frustration and impatience. The Smoker would never have subjected   
   his plan to the deliberation of the whole organization. Instead, as when he,   
   in one of his last acts as a    
   member, had been ordered to terminate Bill Mulder, the decision would have   
   been taken after a few minutes of thought, then his superior would have found   
   some lie to fling at the elders in New York. He held a hand over his head as   
   air whirled during the    
   descent of the helicopter. But those men were dead, killed in an explosion   
   that had all the hallmarks of Gilbert Lindhauer. He had come to learn his   
   intuition about the tall Nordic operative had been correct. But, Lindhauer,   
   too, was gone now, killed by    
   loyalists under the guidance of Morley Man, so Alex Krycek had been forced to   
   cast his lot in with these old enemies of the Organization.   
      
   He nodded to the white-haired elder who had just stepped up beside him. "So?"   
      
   A long arm dropped over his shoulder. "Come inside, my friend. We have much to   
   discuss." The Suebi turned to the white-haired man in a blue uniform. "Thank   
   you, Frijdolf. The trip was smooth and precise, as always."   
      
   With a nod, the slight man preceded the pair, holding the door until both   
   passed through. "Shall I bring some refreshment to your study, Sir?"   
      
   The Suebi offered a broad smile, then the inclination of a white head. "That   
   would be most appreciated, my Friend."   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Fenleyding, Northumbria   
   Sunday, 3:23  pm   
      
   Once settled on deep leather chairs whose legs ended in carved clawed paws,   
   the Suebi took a sip of Darjeeling. After a soft sigh, he positioned the Blue   
   Willow cup and saucer in the exact center of the Irish crocheted lace on the   
   side table. "Now, my    
   Friend, I have some bad news."   
      
   The dark-haired man fidgeted. "What? I am not to be one of their precious   
   Forty?"   
      
   A long, pale nose wrinkled. "No, the Leges Duodecim Tabularum stand. The seat   
   of the Slav will go to a distinguished female legislator from one of the   
   Baltic States, if she will agree." He looked over at the audible burst of air   
   from across the Isfahan    
   carpet. "I can say no more than that to you. It is our way."   
      
   The younger man was bouncing around the room. "Well, we can eliminate her, and   
   then they will have to pick me."   
      
   The single blow of an aged fist rattled the Wedgewood on the table. "No, I   
   will not allow that! We have a different path to the same end that does not   
   involve violence." Standing, he stamped his foot on the slate hearth. "You   
   must unlearn the ways of    
   your former employers if we are to succeed with my plan."   
      
   Dark eyes narrowed as the younger man returned to his seat. {My plan, you old   
   fool.} "So, what *is* your idea now?"   
      
   A steepling of fingers after the Suebi sat. "As one of the Forty, I can   
   appoint, without review, one such as yourself to be a Quaestor or to hold some   
   lesser office. Never fear, they have much power, if exercised properly. I am   
   selecting you as one of    
   the Tribuni Plebis, and, as such, you will have broad authority to reject the   
   decisions of the Ekklesia, or to protect an outsider from its deliberations,   
   or to determine who may or may not be an Atrebates or one of the Forty. You   
   could even remove me,    
   though that decision would be most unwise."   
      
   Krycek began to rise, but forced himself to remain seated. "So, how does this   
   happen?"   
      
   One angular shoulder drooped. "The sound has gone out. So, you knew this son   
   of the Atrebates we have only recently been able to recover to our care." He   
   waved his tapered fingers. "Please, tell me of your time with him."   
      
   The dark-haired man sent a cutting glare toward the Suebi. His plan for Fox   
   Mulder's destruction and demise was secondary to his main objective, but the   
   description of the tall agent's personality was all the old man in the   
   chestnut leather seat seemed    
   to care to hear. "Yeah, he was a difficult read, with that British education,   
   his time in Behavioral Sciences, and his intuitive approach to solving his   
   tripped-out cases. I had my orders, but, despite all that, there was a small   
   part of me that    
   genuinely admired the guy. Then, there was his partnership with Scully - "   
      
   "This is the woman agent your Organization both handed him and removed?"   
      
   "Yeah, then returned her, for whatever insane reason." The brown head shook.   
   "The Smoker kept saying she was more useful alive than as a dead test subject,   
   that she gave Mulder something to fixate over besides his sister, something   
   else they could take    
   away to reel him in. The way he obsessed over her disappearance was a little   
   over-the-top. But, as far as I could tell, they just worked together. It   
   wasn't like they were in a relationship."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)