Category: Story, Angst, Conspiracy Rating: Strong "R" for adult themes Spoilers: For entire "mytharc" up to US Season Five but especially "731/Nisei" Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. CC does. Sue who? Sue me? Ha, ha! ======= ITEM #3293-7 by CiCi Lean, 1999 cicilean@yahoo.com ======= I suppose it's true that most scientists fall in love with their own experiments. Eventually. At first it's a mere flirtation -- a chance meeting of theory and hypothesis often turned cold by unforgiving fact. It's a merciful death and the scientist usually moves on, citing wisdom gained as a consolation prize for the loss of a theory once new and neat and glittering and precious. Of course, if the experiment succeeds, it's a much different story. That's what happened to me. It was a long time ago, or perhaps not so long ago, when I was fresh out of the Honors Society of my Ivy League college holding degrees in advanced genetic biology, microbiology, forensic science and the odd bachelor's in Victorian poetry. One of those strange child geniuses I was; restless, undefinable and cold, young but never quite youthful. Graduated everything early, except for life and that's most likely the reason I failed so miserably in the ethical side of my work, daring to become enamored with my first important experiment. An experiment that had only a number attached to it, Item #3293-7. A human experiment that lay semiconscious and terrified, bound to an operating table in the frigid confines of a broken down railway car, spitting and cursing at me in between bouts of screaming for her life. And I, unfortunately, fell madly in love with her. ======= She was brought in as all the others were. Drugged, furious, terrified... baffled. I performed the necessary extractions, a portion of her pituitary and thyroid glands, a sample of her bone marrow ... all of her ova. She was partially conscious for much of this, general anaesthesia mixed with the already administered witch's brew of sedatives would have created too great a risk of permanent brain damage. We didn't want that now did we? Unlike the others, she rarely screamed once the experiments began, but Item #3293-7's eyes were eloquent enough. I fell for their expressiveness immediately, even though the only emotions I ever saw in them were terror and rage mixed with wild glimpses of physical pain. They were huge and blue and frightened and the sight was ... Interesting. But I never had much time to examine them as closely as I would have like to -- I was a busy boy back then. I'd just put the final touches on my first great creation, an implanted microchip that would change human life as we knew it. It was going to turn Item #3293-7 into a living computer, a pure memory bank that would store the entire history of humanity by expanding her brain's already enormous unused capacity into a pure storage facility. A million megs or more would be available to us for future use and it would be sorely needed if any of the rumors I'd been hearing swirling around us were true. Rumors about extraterrestrial invaders ... conquerors who were going to take back the reigns of a science experiment of their own from ten million years back. A little experiment called the human race. I was very excited the day I showed Ishimura the chip. I was positive I'd perfected it and my enthusiasm eventually grew contagious even to the old, hardened men around me. "What about removal?" he'd asked warily. "We must consider all the possibilities." I nodded. Still enthusiastic. "I've already made provisions for that. If any of them are released alive and have the chips removed..." A narrow glance. "Yes?" I shrugged and smiled. "They die." "They die?" His eyes narrowed further. "And we won't be implicated in this?" I shook my head. "No, because they won't die as a direct cause of the chip's removal. However, upon extraction, signals will be immediately diverted to the cell nuclei stimulating virulent cancer growth of various types. It won't only be non-traceable, but non- treatable and completely coincidental looking." He gaped at me. Amazed, and I dare say, impressed. For there it was. It was simple, it was neat. It was science at its very best. Ishimura loved it. "This is very good," he said, heartily slapping me on the back. "So very good." I shrugged. "But of course," I replied, before motioning the driller to begin the insertion into the neck of Item #3293-7. I watched as her eyes screamed and I felt that tug again, the unavoidable lure of a helpless woman, being brave, being strong and not being rewarded in the slightest for it. "What's her name?" I asked Ishimura, unable to tear my eyes away. He glanced at me. Frowning with suspicion. "Why do you want to know?" I smiled at him. "Oh, just call it scientific curiosity." He smiled back. Ishimura had been a chief "medical" doctor in one of Pol Pot's Khmer Rouge camps and was certainly no stranger to my kind of "curiosity." Put on his reading glasses and flipped through the file that he'd kept open on his desk, but was written in carefully coded Japanese. "Her name ... " he mused as he scanned through the scrawls. "So much information, and yet..." Her eyes screamed at me again, begging for mercy. " ... so little of a personal nature. But ... oh, here it is." The drill entered her neck and slowly worked its way between her vertebrae. "D ... K... " She averted her glance away from me, closed her eyes and bit her lip so hard, it began to bleed. I heard Ishimura's voice buzzing somewhere beneath the whine of the drill. "Scully, Dana Katherine. Yes, I think that's it. Would you like to know anything else?" Unable to reply, I simply shook my head. And continued to watch. ======= In the end, of course, it didn't really work. Well, most of it didn't. The memory storage functions weren't completely up to par, and the chip was so sensitive that a good case of whiplash would most likely disable it completely. I needed more time for my studies ... needed to keep a much closer eye on my subjects. I did notice that the fail-safe additions, however, were working like a charm. Most of the implantees were expiring at a good clip following the removal of their chips and not too many were much the wiser, except for that intolerable MUFON network. Part "abductee" support group, part quilting bee from Hell, these quasi-religious wackos were just "out there" enough to keep anyone from taking them seriously. Luckily, the autosuggested memories unfolded as planned and these women were convinced they'd been taken by extraterrestrial life forms and tortured like so many futuristic Joans of Arc, floating in zero gravity, screaming for their lives. When all the while they were simply silent witnesses to a rather mundane science experiment, created by a boy-genius who'd grown tired of all those wingless flies and had graduated onto bigger and better things. Yes, dear ladies, of course those chips were man-made. I should know. I was the man who made them. By sheer bad luck, the case fell into the lap of the FBI and it became imperative that I keep an eye on everything from an even closer vantage point. It didn't take much persuading to have them assign me to the Bureau. I was keeping watch over my life's work, my experiment ... and no power on earth could have kept me away. They gave me a badge, a gun I hadn't a clue how to fire and a name one of them had taken off of a road sign in downtown Vancouver -- Pendrell Street. It was from that point on that I was known as Special Agent Pendrell, with the first name of ... of ... oh, good Lord, who could remember it? I couldn't, that was for sure. It wasn't necessary, really, everyone called me simply "Pendrell" and I grew used to that quickly enough. The work was duller than dishwater, but I took a certain pride in doing it to the best of my ability and soon became an invaluable asset to their ridiculously out-of-date laboratory. I enjoyed my position and relished the opportunity to keep such a close eye on one of the last surviving examples of my "real" work. One who went by the everyday title of Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, X-Files division. Known to me as Item #3293-7. Predictably, she'd removed the chip almost immediately upon her return as did all the others. Just as predictably she grew deathly ill as a result. It was slow going for her, unfortunately. Some of them died quickly and quietly, others weren't quite as lucky. Rasping and suffering violently until the pitiful end, a few of them fought for their fading lives with a fervor that surprised me. Impressed me. Interested me. She was one of those. As planned, she came to me with the chip and I gave it a cursory examination, feeling a strange unease in her presence. I wasn't used to my experiments talking to me, especially not on the level of a peer. I threw a few terms her way, she countered with some of her own without so much as a blink. It was a unique conversation, sickening in some ways, almost erotically enjoyable in others. Some men like big tits. I like unflinching minds. She had no idea that she'd already begun to develop the inevitable cancer, and I, of course, couldn't inform her of this. It was just as much a part of my experiment as the chip itself and had to be examined right up to its bitter finale. Examined with a rigorous eye ... coldly, from the appropriate distance. But that soon began to prove difficult. Nearly impossible. For this woman wasn't only brilliant, she was beautiful. Stunningly, wonderfully beautiful. I began to hunger for her visits, looking to the world as a simple, besotted boy, all the while wondering if the autosuggestions would one day fail and she'd remember me. Remember me from that train car -- recall in detail the true countenance of her chief torturer. And kill me on the spot. What a terrifying, and thrilling, idea that was. I began to help her on cases I knew far too much about. The biology of the shape-changers, the oil creatures, the inventory system ... so many things. Gave her information that would have gotten most of my colleagues killed within hours, but I was careful and they never had reason to suspect me. I'd always assumed she would die before any of this information she'd uncovered would begin to make sense, but I'd underestimated her strength. She faded slowly, more like a dying sun than a weak hothouse flower, and accordingly she burned brightest toward her end. Fury mingled with her fear, just as it had in that train car and she became relentless in her pursuit of answers. And, as always, the more she fought, the more irresistible she became. Soon I began to suffer from feelings that were as foreign to me as that cancer was to her. Feelings of fear, sorrow ... guilt. As a scientist, one who'd been convinced he was just doing his job, these emotions were intolerable. I became racked insomnia, migraines, nightmares so terrifying my own screams woke me night after cursed night. Began drinking a bit more, ... a lot more, than I should have. All the while watching her slowly die and knowing that to change her fate was to seal my own. My "work" suffered ... in both arenas and I could smell the suspicion surrounding me as a wounded creature can smell the scent of its own blood trailing behind it. For the first time in my twenty four years on this planet I was lost ... taken in by some hostile force, strapped to a part of my humanity I couldn't comprehend and was left there to drunkenly ponder my condition just as my experiments had been before me. Drugged, terrified, furious ... and baffled. I was only partially aware of my surroundings by that time, taking sleeping pills after a night of drinking, creating a witch's brew of sedatives that were no doubt presenting a great risk of permanent brain damage. And with a monstrous brain like mine, that was sure to be a blessing. I no longer screamed myself awake from my nightmares, but in the morning, my eyes were eloquent enough. If I distanced myself properly I could fall for their expressiveness immediately, even though the only emotions I saw in them were terror and rage mixed with wild glimpses of physical pain. They were huge and blue and frightened and the sight of them in the mirror was ... Interesting. I began work on a new project, in a secret part of the crude laboratory I now called "home." Stole a few parts and gadgets from my old workstation and began to labor in earnest. Felt better and stronger as I progressed, even when the warning signals started to flash everywhere, thick and heavy with prophesy. "Do Not Go There" they blazed, but little did they know that I'd already stumbled into the doorway and had drunkenly weaved my way past the threshold straight up to the bar. Had already ordered and drank a half dozen more beers to compliment the Scotch I'd consumed at lunchtime with a fervor of a newly liberated man. Had already made the new microchip and deposited it into its airtight, lead-lined container, filled with pure iodinized water. Had already filled out the birthday card, and addressed it to one Dana Katherine Scully with four deadly, and priceless, words written inside of it. //"Put it back in."// And had already saw the brilliant, perfect light of sunrise, even though the night had hardly even begun. ======= fini All comments to: cicilean@yahoo.com