From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
   =====o============================o=====   
   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 39  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 VIII –  Fall Out    
      
   -----o------------------------------------o-----   
      
   The President: We have just witness two forms of revolt. The first,   
   uncoordinated youth, rebelling against nothing it can define. The second, an   
   established, successful, secure member of the establishment, turning upon and   
   biting the hand that feeds him.    
   Whether these actions are dangerous, they contribute nothing to our culture   
   and are to be stamped out!   
      
   Hooded, masked audience applauds wildly. The masks are half black, and half   
   white. The President strikes the gavel on the pad once. The green eye on the   
   rocket labeled '1' starts flashing, and the screen shows two real estate   
   agents removing the 'For    
   Sale' sign from the fence in front of The Prisoner's townhouse.   
      
   The President: (speaking over video of the townhouse) At the other end of the   
   scale, we are honoured to have with us    
      
   (The Prisoner watches from the seat of honour)    
      
   a revolutionary of different caliber. He has revolted, resisted, fought, held   
   fast, maintained, destroyed resistance, overcome coercion. The right to be   
   person, someone, or individual. We applaud his private war and concede that   
   despite materialistic    
   efforts, he has survived intact and secure. All that remains is, recognition   
   of a man, a man of steel, a man magnificently equipped to lead us, that is,   
   lead us, or go. In this connection, we have a prize.    
      
   (treasure chest is rolled in on a cart by a masked hooded figure)    
      
   You will see that your home is being made ready. Above and beyond this, we   
   have the means for you to desert us and go anywhere.    
      
   (the chest on the cart is stopped in front of The Prisoner)    
      
   Key to your house. Traveler's cheques, a million. Passport, valid for   
   anywhere. And, uh, petty cash. You are free to go.   
      
   The Prisoner: Free to go.   
      
   The President: Anywhere.   
      
   The Prisoner: Why?   
      
   The President: You have been such an example to us.   
      
   The Prisoner: Why?   
      
   The President: You have convinced us of our mistake.   
      
   The Prisoner: (growls) Why?   
      
   The President: You're pure; you know the way, show us.   
      
   The Prisoner: (cheerfully) Why?   
      
   The President: Your revolt is good and honest. You are the only individual. We   
   need you.   
      
   The Prisoner: I see.   
      
   The President: You do. You see all.   
      
   The Prisoner: I'm an individual?   
      
   The President: You are on your own.   
      
   The Prisoner: I fail to see.   
      
   The President: All about you is yours. We concede. We offer. We plead for you   
   to lead us.   
      
   The Prisoner: Or go.   
      
   The President: Go if you wish.   
      
   The Prisoner: I, I don't know.   
      
   The President: Take the stand. Address us.   
      
   The Prisoner: Should I?   
      
   The President: You must. You are the greatest. Make a statement, a true   
   statement which could only be yours, but for us. Remember us, don't forget us.   
   Keep us in mind. There, we are all yours.   
      
   The Prisoner descends from the seat of honour, takes the passport, traveler's   
   cheques, key, and petty cash. To the ecstatic applause of the robed, masked   
   audience, he crosses the room, ascends the President's podium, bows to the   
   audience, pockets the    
   petty cash, strikes the gavel once, and begins to speak.   
      
   The Prisoner: I-   
      
   The audience shouts 'I' repeatedly and raucously. After several attempts to   
   begin to speak, each time beginning with 'I', and each time, being drowned out   
   by the shouting, repeating audience, The Prisoner simply continues to speak.   
   Any words he says are    
   lost in the shouts of the audience as the President looks on, a smug   
   expression on his face. The Prisoner finishes, as the audience is on its feet,   
   still shouting 'I' repeatedly.   
      
   The President: (raises hand, audience cheers, quiets, and sits) There, on   
   behalf of us all, we thank you.   
      
   The Prisoner looks down, confused.   
      
   The President: And, now I take it, you are prepared to meet, uh, Number One.   
      
   The Prisoner still looks confused.   
      
   The President: Follow me, if you would be so kind, Sir.   
      
   The Prisoner turns, looks back at the now silent audience, descends the steps   
   of the podium, and follows the President as "The Bear Went Over the Mountain"   
   plays.   
      
                                        Fall Out   
      
   -----o----------------------------------o-----   
      
   Tyrgleipnir, Northumbria   
   Sunday, July 19, 1998   
   1:03 pm   
      
   Alex Krycek struggled against Walter Skinner's hold. "Hey, let me go! This was   
   all their idea!" He tried kicking at the loam, but, the former Marine had him   
   in a hammerlock.   
      
   "I doubt that." The bald Director flicked his eyes toward the dark-haired   
   agent, who was hovering over his supine partner. "Talk to me, Mulder!"   
      
   But the tall man heard nothing except Scully's rattling gasps, saw nothing but   
   the blood on the right side of her chest, and, incredibly, her green-blue eyes   
   locked on his gaze. "Scully?"   
      
   "Mulder, listen to me. Mulder?"   
      
   After tearing off his FBI jacket to ball it up, he pressed the black canvas   
   against the spreading red. "Okay. It'll be okay."   
      
   "Mulder!"   
      
   He focused on her face. "Scully?"   
      
   She grasped his right wrist with her left hand. "This isn't fatal." She   
   coughed. "Keep the compression in place. Push down hard. It won't hurt any   
   worse than it already does." As he complied, her lips set in a firm line,   
   since the pain had morphed her    
   words of encouragement into shouting lies.   
      
   Nichols bent over them both. "Mulder? Scully?"   
      
   They twisted to look up at him.   
      
   The ASAC was grasping both his knees to keep himself upright. "We can have you   
   to a hospital in Newcastle in twenty minutes, a half an hour, tops. Ap Gwinn   
   is getting the airspace cleared to the trauma center there."   
      
   Behind them, they could hear the rotors spinning up.   
      
   Mulder checked back over his shoulder. "Sir?"   
      
   Skinner set his jaw firmly. "He's not going anywhere. Look to your partner,   
   Agent Mulder."   
      
   He squeezed the jacket into a smaller ball, before bending close to his   
   partner's ear. "Scully, you're panting, but I can barely hear you breathing."   
      
   Her grip on his wrist tightened. "Pneumothorax. My right lung has collapsed."   
   The alto was breathy and raspy. "It sounds worse than it is. Mulder, Krycek's   
   gun is in my pocket. You need to take it out and hang onto it before I go into   
   surgery."   
      
   He looked up helplessly, finally catching Rosen's eye.   
      
   She knelt beside them both. "Okay, what do you two need?"   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)