Caffeine, Conspiracies, and the Fortean Nature of Fishes XI: Killer Korn from Outer Space
By D. Sidhe: Erika
Category: Slash, WIP
Pairings: Mulder/Frohike, Langly/Byers, assorted OCs
Rating: NC-17. There's not really much explicit sex, and certainly not enough to suit several of the boys, but there's a significant amount of nudity, some violence, some profanity, and a good deal of double entendre.
Disclaimers and Apologies: I continue to exploit and offend without permission. Further parts continue to pend, so get your grave concerns about my pharmaceutical regimen in early and avoid the rush. My apologies to the local drive in restaurant, which is undoubtedly sick to death of the jokes, and which I shouldn't mock if only because their website was made with a Mac. Ditto to the local flooring company. My apologies also to university and law enforcement personnel alike, who are all overworked, underpaid, and definitely don't deserve to be associated with me in any way. Equipment mentioned is real, magazines and bakeries are not (with the exception of The Stranger, which is currently edited by Dan Savage, of whom you may have heard). Thanks to PaperClip, who went to a lot of trouble to explain to me, among other things, why exactly a gauss meter doesn't do what people think it does before explaining that that was okay because it absolutely wouldn't do what I have it doing. The title is vaguely a takeoff on a really lame movie called Killer Klowns From Outer Space, and the summary is from Erynn, who offered it nearly a year ago.
Archive: If you want it, take it.
Spoilers: Brief jokes from or mentions of elements from XF: Fight The Future, XF: "Wetwired", LGM: "Maximum Byers", LGM: "Bond, Jimmy Bond", and, uh, Ghostbusters, the original movie. I don't think there are any actual spoilers, though the Ghostbusters thing is kind of a plot point, but if you still haven't seen a blockbuster from 1984, I think we can assume you don't intend to, and get on with our lives.
Beta: The Rather Fetching Betty disclaims all mistakes, plot errors, continuity issues, out-of-date jokes, irritating sex scenes, and general disappointment resulting from this product, which is issued without warranty or guaranty, and which may not be returned for trade, refund or credit. But believe me, it'd still be much worse if he hadn't cracked the whip. I owe the boy more truffles than you can imagine. Every time I got to where I was saying "It's fine, I'm just done with it", he'd say, "Is this what you want people to read together with the other parts, a couple years from now when you're done with the whole thing?" And while I think he's being optimistic on the schedule there, I had to admit he was right. When the whole series is finished, no one's going to be giving me a break on this one part because I was frustrated and didn't feel like spending any more time on it. That said, this was always going to be a fairly weak episode of this series anyway, because while I thought crop circles were a necessary inclusion, I didn't much know what to do with them and I originally intended to overwhelm that with random chaos and loads of moving parts, which it turns out I'm not good at writing. So if you like this one, it is almost entirely due to the heroic efforts of Call-Me-Betty, and if you can't stand it, well, that's only my fault.
Author's Note: UGM stands for Unusual Ground Markings, which is kind of a broad catchall for crop circles (or any designs of that nature in vegetation), geoglyphs (markings on the ground), petroglyphs (markings on rocks), and anywhere else they turn up. It falls into the amazingly-stupid category, but basically, the same design is called something different depending where it turns up, and advocates of the theory that intraterrestrials are cutting mandalas into stones with their psychic powers will mock those who believe that extraterrestrials are landing in wheat fields and leaving "saucer nests". It's not unreasonable to assume that each theorist disses the work of the others because they cut into his share of the alarmingly lucrative book-and-lecture market, but it doesn't explain why cerealogists fail to co-opt geoglyphs as crop circles that landed somewhere else. In any event, the guys would all know what a UGM is, having been through various files and discussions by now, so nobody will explain it for you unless I do it here. Regardless of where they appear, UGMs all seem to fall into a few categories: swirls, runes, mandelbrots, geometrics, astronomicals, insectograms, etc. They're recognizable largely by basic design and distinguished entirely by location. While we're at it, NVG stands for Night Vision Goggles. The rest of it you'll probably have to work out for yourself, because I'm mean that way. Also, Sno Ball colors are regional as well as seasonal, so don't write and tell me Langly's wrong. Incidentally, the non-white ones are, according to Hostess, "Glo Balls". They seem to feel this is genuinely a big deal, far beyond just a coconut color change. Their appearance is in part due to Shadow, and Betty again helped me with the research on that. He helped with a number of odd experiments this round, but didn't let me wrap him in aluminum foil. (He's still a far better sport than he should have to be.) And, yes, I know you've all been waiting nearly two and a half years for this thing. And I know this is more or less entirely not remotely worth it. It would probably be a good idea to reread previous parts to this series before you read this one, and I know that's not worth it, either. I grovel.

Summary: If You Plant It, They Will Come.

**

Mulder woke up when Frohike punched him in the shoulder, hard. "Ow! Fuck!"

"Not on your life, you bastard."

Mulder blinked. The older man sounded genuinely pissed, which seemed unfair considering the last thing Mulder remembered, which should've been enough to make anybody happy. In fact, he was feeling like a rematch might be in order, if he could get Frohike to stop hitting him, or at least aim more carefully. "Ow! Dammit!"

"And don't even think about trying the pout on me."

Mulder ducked the next blow. "For God's sake, Fro, ease off. What time is it?"

"Early enough to see. Jesus, Mulder, you just get weirder by the fucking day, don't you."

He opened his mouth to protest, and then shrugged. "Probably," he admitted mildly. "You didn't complain much last night."

"I assumed," Frohike said with disgust, "that you had the common decency to wake me up before you tried anything."

Mulder's jaw dropped. He closed it with an effort and made a grab for Frohike. "Whoa. I think the conversation just lapped me. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, no. You're not weaseling out of this one—" Frohike pulled away, wrapping the blanket more firmly around himself, and consequently yanking it off Mulder. His voice faltered and he stared.

Mulder wasn't accustomed to quite that reaction, and followed his gaze. "Uh." He rapidly put two and two together. "I take it you didn't do that."

"No," Frohike said weakly. He pushed the blanket off himself. "I thought you did it to me."

They regarded each other, a network of suspiciously familiar lines across most of their bare bodies.

Mulder rubbed at a straw yellow line on his chest and thought about it for a few moments longer. "Either J. Wayne is into a really weird scene…"

Frohike sighed, idly tracing the green swirls on his leg. "Doesn't seem too likely. I don't suppose you've taken up sleep, uh, drawing?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Crop circles? That's just weird."

"You can see why I immediately thought of you."

"That's weird even for me, Fro."

"Mulder," the Gunman said explosively. "How the hell did someone get in here and do—this—without waking us up? And don't say we were tired, because we're both way too paranoid to get caught out like that."

Mulder shook his head. "You know the answer to that as well as I do."

Frohike buried his face in his hands. "Yeah, but I was hoping you'd lie to me. Okay, we'd better get dressed. You check out the trace, I'll go make sure the boys are okay. But, look, if they put the crabs back in the tub, we're just packing up and never coming back to this godforsaken state, you hear me?"

Mulder swung his legs over the side of the bed and stepped on something. It made a popping noise. "Oh, fuck."

"Not the crabs, Mulder. Please, no more crabs."

"Ping pong ball," Mulder said with dawning dismay. He sprinted for the door and the car.

"Clothes, Mulder!"

It pulled him up short, to Frohike's relief. Skinner would not be amused by an arrest record for indecent exposure. Especially not such a decorative one.

There was an urgent knock on the adjoining door. Frohike waited till Mulder had put on pants before opening it.

No need to ask. Jimmy and J. Wayne stood there in much the same state of partial dress, displaying similar markings, this time in gray and brown.

Frohike sighed. "I suppose you guys slept through it too?"

J. Wayne nodded, turning slightly pink, and tried not to look at Mulder. "We wondered…"

Jimmy, behind him, was less successful at avoiding staring at Mulder, though he made an effort. "We thought maybe—uh, you guys did it."

"Everybody put some clothes on," Frohike instructed resignedly. "Byers and Langly will be here any minute demanding to know what the hell is going on. With any luck, they'll get dressed first."

**

In retrospect it should have been obvious, but in fact nobody had noticed until Jimmy commented on it. The bruise on J. Wayne's forehead had disappeared overnight, as well as, it turned out, the lump on the back of his neck, and the burn on Frohike's arm.

Even Mulder had been healed of some unspecified mark that left Frohike smirking and J. Wayne openly thoughtful.

They were taking an unenthusiastic inventory of the evidence they had left when someone pounded on their door, followed by the muffled sound of Byers saying "I'm sure there's… an explanation…"

Mulder put down a canister that seemed to still hold strawberry goo, and opened the door. "It's not a good one. Come on in, boys."

Byers entered, but Langly seemed content to stand in the doorway until Byers grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him in. "Calm down. It looks like something happened here, too."

Not the least reassured, Langly sidled away and hunched by the wall, as far away from Mulder as he could get.

Byers sighed. "You said there was an explanation?"

Frohike stepped through the connecting door with a sour expression. "Sit. Tell us."

Byers blushed slightly and glanced at Langly, who didn't look at all interested in jumping in. He settled carefully on the edge of the bed and gazed at the ceiling. "Langly… woke up first, and… It looks like someone broke into our room in the night. I don't know how. We didn't wake up at all. And it was definitely while we were there. They, ah…" his voice trailed off.

"Drew UGMs on you with Sharpie," Mulder said flatly, pushing up a sleeve to display yellow swirls.

Byers turned bright red and nodded. "Uh, yes. More or less. Not yellow, though. He got blue and I got black."

Langly made an unhappy noise from his position against the wall.

"Relax, kid," Frohike told him. "They got all of us." He moved closer to Langly. "Looks like your shiner is gone, though."

Byers nodded again. "It doesn't make any sense." He looked around. "But I suppose you already know that part. You'd better tell them the rest, Langly."

Frohike glared at Langly. "What else?"

Langly shook his head. "This is all just too weird."

Frohike turned his glare on Byers, noticing his tie was uneven. The whole thing seemed to be getting to everybody. "Tell me," he said firmly.

Byers sighed. "All right. The mouse… who attacked… Langly…" there were nods of agreement from all but J. Wayne, who hadn't heard about it yet. "It—he—left a… toy…"

Frohike perched on the table next to Mulder. "Spit it out, Byers."

Byers took another run at it. "Whoever it was, left a cow-in-a-can toy on Langly's chest after knocking him out." He shrugged. "It was in the bus last night, I know we didn't bring it in with us. It's not in the bus anymore, and it wasn't in the room, but… This was." He stood up and put something on the table.

Mulder picked it up and inspected it, flipping it over.

"Baaaaaaaa-aaaaaa-aaaaaaa-aaaa…"

Everyone jumped but Byers, who was ready for it. He shrugged. "It's a sheep-in-a-can."

Jimmy looked at it as if it might levitate. "What happened to the cow?"

"Maybe they mutilated it," Langly sniped, but it lacked force.

Byers shook his head. "They traded it, I suppose."

"They who?" Jimmy asked.

Frohike looked at Byers, and past him to Langly. Neither of them seemed particularly surprised or puzzled just now. They met his gaze steadily, and the three of them turned to look at Mulder, who had a disenchanted quirk to his mouth.

"Who else," Mulder said airily. "Our sharp-dressing pals."

Jimmy was still clueless, to Langly's irritation. "Who?"

"The Men In Black, you big dope."

"Oh! But why—"

"Why the hell not?" Langly snapped.

"Knock it off or I'll put you in separate corners," Frohike said without heat. "Anything else in your room, or the bus?"

Byers shook his head. "Not that we noticed, but we didn't do a complete inspection. We wanted… We thought… maybe…"

"Why the hell does everyone keep looking at me?" Mulder demanded.

There were a few smirks as they pointedly didn't look at him for a few moments.

Byers scanned the room again. "All of us?" he asked plaintively.

"Yup," Frohike nodded. "Pretty thorough job."

"You might as well tell us everything, then."

Frohike glanced at Langly, who didn't look like he was anxious to move. "C'mon," he said to Byers. "It's in the bathroom, in here." A thought struck him. "Where was the sheep thing?"

"The… mouse… left the cow thing on his chest, after he was on the ground. They seem to have done the same thing here. Which means—"

"Which means they didn't expect him to roll over for the rest of the night," Frohike mused quietly. He stepped out of the way and gestured. "And with Langly—"

Byers nodded. "That's pretty unlikely. But he didn't."

Frohike started to ask something when Byers interrupted him. "Where are the crabs? The origami?"

"I think that's them."

Byers knelt next to the bathtub and reached in, sifting out a handful of half-inch diameter paper cutouts in the shape of, what else, crabs. They were all purple on one side and white on the other, though some of them had black marks on the white side. About half of them were creased.

"I suppose so," Byers murmured. "This must have taken a long time."

Frohike nodded. "Too late for blood samples?"

Byers looked up at him speculatively. "Gas under the door?"

"Seems likely."

The younger man brushed the paper crabs off his hands and stood up. "I don't know. Ringo is… acting strangely, but he has been for a couple of days. This hasn't been a normal trip. How do you feel, Mel? Dizzy? Sick? Tired? Headache?"

Frohike shook his head and turned to leave. "No to all of the above. Pretty much the opposite. Even J. Wayne looks like he might live, and after yesterday I wasn't sure. You?"

"The same." He blushed again and Frohike smiled in lazy remembrance.

"It was shaping up to be a good morning before I saw the marks."

Byers shaded a darker red and did what he could not to meet the other man's eyes.

Frohike patted him sympathetically on the back. "Let's try anyhow. But there's more in the other room, Byers, and the car."

"More confetti?"

"Nothing so conventional. There were some ping pong balls scattered around the bed this morning. From the ones we collected for prints. Mulder went out to check on them, they'd been in the trunk of the rental."

"No longer?"

"Replaced with garbage bags of cotton balls. No, I don't know why."

"Well, it will make printing undeniably more difficult. I suppose you might get DNA, though it seems unlikely it would match any records."

"True. But the real weirdness is in their room."

"You'd better show me, I suppose. And then we'll start taking samples. And," he sighed, "taking pictures."

Jimmy caught the last word. "Pictures? Of us? The drawings?"

Langly straightened up fast enough to slam his head against the wall. "No way. No fucking way. No fucking pictures," he announced. "I am not an X-File, okay? No. Fucking. Way."

Byers considered arguing but a better option presented itself. "Take it up with Mulder," he suggested, and went into the next room with Frohike on his heels.

"Johnny!" floated through the open door before Frohike shut it, grinning.

"Sounds like he's feeling better. It's over here."

Byers stared. "Why…?"

Frohike shrugged. "As our young friend put it, why the hell not?"

Byers gave him a half smile. "You don't seem especially put out at the thought of becoming an X-File."

"Hey, you know me. Anything to further the cause of science…"

"I do know you. It's not so much the science as the likelihood Scully will be looking at the pictures."

That got an actual chuckle. Not much of one, but the first of the day. Frohike shrugged. "Anonymously, John. We're not fools. And anyhow, half the files in that rathole are John Does."

Byers' attention was dragged back to the bathroom counter. "What are these again? Langly would know, I imagine."

"Hostess Sno Balls, Jimmy said."

He moved in to get a closer look. "Any idea why our friends would build a pyramid out of… pink snack cakes?"

Frohike shrugged. "Your guess is probably as good as mine. Better, really, since I don't have one."

Byers sighed again. "I don't, either. It doesn't seem any more unusual than anything else they've done, really. The crabs almost make a sort of sense, but this is… odd. How are they held together?"

"No idea. We didn't touch it."

"It reminds me of one of Ringo's songs, somehow." Byers gave it a last look. "Is that all?"

"So far." Frohike hesitated. "Your tie's crooked, you know that?"

Byers winced, his hands flying to his neck. "It's been a strange morning."

The older Gunman couldn't resist batting his hands out of the way and straightening the tie himself, patting Byers on the cheek like a mother hen. "Can't have you going around looking like a slob. Makes me think the world's about to end."

Byers smiled wanly and the two of them rejoined the others.

"Okay," Frohike said, taking charge again. "Let's get some Do Not Disturb signs on these doors. We don't want anything moved just yet. Since nobody heard anything—? Okay. I think we have to assume our buddies slipped some kind of knockout gas under the doors to pull this off. So Byers is gonna get some samples from us—Yeah?"

Byers was looking thoughtful. "If that's what happened, and I see no reason to think otherwise, the rooms should have been saturated. Not just us. Things like wood and cloth might retain traces longer, especially the area just around the doorframe."

"We'll leave it up to you, Mr. Wizard. Langly can start getting pictures, and after that, Jimmy, you can get the paper crabs out of the bathtub in there. I know there are gloves and garbage bags in the van, Byers can tell you where." He held up a finger. "After Langly and Byers say it's okay, got it? Until then, you touch nothing."

Jimmy nodded.

"J. Wayne, you're with me, and we'll get some readings, and then we can take apart the cake thing. Mulder, you can, I dunno, do whatever the fuck it is you do with X-Files aside from wasting government money, sit here and feel the Zen of the weirdness or whatever."

Mulder actually grinned. "I should have known you wouldn't respect me after last night."

Frohike smiled as senses of humor reasserted themselves. "Believe me, Mulder, nobody here wants details."

"Excuse me." J. Wayne spoke up.

Frohike swallowed a sigh and tried to head off what he knew was coming. "Well, okay, he might want details." He leered half-heartedly, but J. Wayne didn't seem to have been paying attention.

"What?" It startled him, but he dismissed it. "I was just thinking… Maybe…" The kid looked unhappy, but prepared to face up to things. "I think we need to discuss…" He took a breath and glanced around. "Calling it off. Going home. This isn't what you signed on for, any of you. If they can get into our rooms while we're asleep, they can do anything, really. And I don't like that people are getting hurt." He glanced at Langly. "I didn't know some… thing had attacked you. I didn't mean to get you into this, any of you. So… I'll pay you for your time and expenses, and I'll get you plane tickets, and…" He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for dragging you out here."

There was a long silence, and then Byers shifted. "Well," he said in his brightest tone, the one he used to keep the other Gunmen from saying something particularly regrettable after a painfully dim suggestion by Jimmy. "That's certainly something to—"

"The hell you say." Langly interrupted, glaring at him first, then Jimmy, then finally settling on J. Wayne. "You want to get us out of here so you can scoop us? Do we look stupid? After all this? After I put up with mice and naked crazy cults and blue things and fishgoats and shit? No fucking way. There's something going on out here, and I wanna know what it is. Nobody's scooping us. Not after I drive through four states full of cows."

The kid looked stunned at this interpretation, and Frohike laughed. "J. Wayne, knock off the noble shit. Sure, this is a little more active than some of our stories, but it's nowhere near the most dangerous. I think we can look after ourselves."

Byers nodded, serious now. "With the amount of activity in this area, there must be something happening. I'd very much like to get to the bottom of it."

"Besides," Jimmy put in, "this is kinda fun. I mean, it's weird and all, but fun."

Langly rolled his eyes at Jimmy's grin.

J. Wayne looked to Mulder, who smiled charmingly. "Hey, count me in. If I don't come back with something to justify this trip, Skinner'll stuff me into an even deeper basement."

"If not chain you in a dungeon," Frohike noted dryly.

"I don't think the FBI actually has one of those…" But the agent appeared to be contemplating it with rather more glee than was necessary.

Langly snickered. "J. Edgar Hoover, Mulder. Clyde Tolson."

Mulder laughed. "Let's get to work, then, boys."

**

Langly snagged Frohike. "What's weird about this?" he asked, gesturing to the Sno Ball pyramid.

Frohike sighed. "Gonna have to give me more to go on. What's not weird about it?"

"Well," Langly said slowly, "for starters, they're pink. And they only sell the pink ones around Valentine's Day. And it's July. So, why are they fresh?"

Frohike shrugged. "I hear the shelf life of a Twinkie is—"

"Less than a month," Langly interrupted him. "Journalists shouldn't repeat urban legends."

Frohike smiled and held up his hands in apology. "Okay, okay. What's your theory?"

"I don't have one. It's just weird, that's all."

"True. Are they stuck together with toothpicks or something?"

Langly shook his head. "I think it might be wires."

"Did you try to take it apart?"

"No… But when I touched the top one to see if it was stale or something, I got zapped."

Frohike glared. "What the hell do you mean, zapped?"

Langly blinked in surprise. "Just, like, static electricity. No big deal, I just think there might be metal holding them together."

"C'mon, Langly, what are you, stupid? There's weird shit going on and we don't know what the hell could happen!"

Byers hurried in. "Guys, guys. What's wrong?"

Langly shrugged. "Ask him. I got a static shock, and he's freaking."

Byers turned to Frohike with a raised eyebrow.

"Look, we don't know what the hell is going on here. And yeah, maybe he just got a shock from touching the cake thing. But with everything else, it might be worth making sure that's all it is, okay? So show me your damned hand, Ringo."

Byers nodded at Langly. "That's certainly reasonable."

By now nearly everybody had gathered to see what was going on. Displeased with the audience, Langly sighed and stuck his hand out. "Whatever."

"Where?" Frohike insisted, and he pointed mutely to a fingertip.

Byers leaned in for a close look. "I don't see anything."

"Me either," Frohike admitted grudgingly. "But if he sticks a colander on his head and starts talking about being the Keymaster, I want to know right away."

The subsequent snickers were mostly glared down by Langly, but it wasn't the sort of thing that worked on Mulder.

"Would that make Byers the Gatekeeper?" he leered.

Langly sighed as Byers blushed. "Fuck you, Mulder."

Mulder just laughed.

Frohike shook his head. "Keep it up and I'll send you to your rooms, kids," he said absently, waving his hands around the pyramid. "Byers, did we bring the gauss meter?"

"Yes." Byers sounded surprised at the question. "I wasn't sure we'd need it, but it doesn't take very much space, so I left it. Why…?"

"I'm curious."

Byers shrugged and left the room, returning moments later with a small white box.

"I think it's wires in there, not magnets," Langly pointed out, puzzled. "And there couldn't be enough metal to create a measurable field."

"Well, let's just see." Frohike played with a couple of switches and dials, and moved the box around the three-sided construction. "Hmm. Since I don't think these Sno Ball things are magnetic, let's find out what's going on here."

Langly leaned over his shoulder. "Weird."

"Well?" Mulder demanded.

Frohike shrugged. "It's a little less than three thousand gauss."

"Which means?"

"Put it this way, Mulder. The Earth's magnetic field is about half a gauss nowadays."

"Okaaay….?"

Frohike sighed. "It's a pile of junk food, Mulder. It probably shouldn't have a magnetic field at all."

Langly smirked briefly. "Iron fortified. And you always say there's no nutritional value in this stuff."

"Wait, guys…" Jimmy said, and everyone winced. "Are you sayin' we could stick stuff onto that thing? Like paperclips and stuff?"

J. Wayne shook his head. "I wouldn't think so. Gauss isn't really the same thing as pull." He glanced at Jimmy. "It's complicated. But the bigger question is, what's in there?"

Frohike's head snapped around. "You think it's hollow?"

"Unless the Sno Balls are causing the effect, it seems like a safe guess."

The three Gunmen looked at each other for a few moments.

"The kid's got a point."

"So let's find out already," Langly said impatiently.

Byers grabbed his hand as he reached toward it. "Gloves this time, I think."

"Why bother? He's already the Keymaster."

"Fuck you, Mulder."

Even with the gloves on, Langly got zapped a second time, which left Frohike worried and Mulder thoughtful.

"They're only latex, Mel," Byers said reasonably. "I wasn't sure they'd work anyway."

"You're going to make a lovely Sigourney Weaver, you know that?"

Byers smiled faintly. "It's not likely to be the strangest thing to happen this trip."

Frohike shook his head and gestured to Langly to get on with it.

The first cake came off the top without incident and with a scattering of pink coconut flakes.

"Hmm," Frohike said noncommittally. No wires or toothpicks to be seen. It had just been resting on a triangle of three other round cakes.

Those three rested lightly on a triangular layer of another six. As soon as they came off, however, the whole thing collapsed in on itself in a pink cloud.

"I guess that answers that question," Langly said, pulling cakes out of the pile and setting them aside.

"I suppose it's possible they might have used wires to hold it together while they constructed it, and then removed them when they were done…"

"You're grasping at straws, Byers," Frohike muttered. "It's not like superior snack stacking tech is more complicated than," he sighed again, "a storage closet full of ping pong balls or a bathtub of origami crabs."

"What the hell? There is something in here."

Everyone crowded closer.

"Oh," Byers said weakly as Langly dropped both Sno Balls and a lemon yellow thing with an expression of distaste.

"That's just wrong," he announced to no one in particular.

Mulder picked the object up, shaking off pink flakes. "Looks fine to me. About a 36C, I'd say."

"36 double C," Frohike corrected him. "Go on, check the tag."

"Are you saying I don't know my lingerie?"

"It's a push-up." Frohike shrugged.

Mulder peered at the tag. "Well, damn. Double or nothing." He held it out for Frohike's appreciation.

"Do we have time for this?" Byers asked desperately.

"Don't rush me. Obviously Victoria's Secret," he said speculatively. "Very nice. Their 'Very Sexy' collection, I believe. 'Lace Plunge'." Frohike grinned at Mulder's face and then turned to look at the others. "Anything you and Jimmy want to tell us, J. Wayne?"

J. Wayne did his best not to giggle. "Not my color. Not his size."

"So there are Women In Black?" Jimmy asked.

"Yellow," J. Wayne noted in a strangled voice.

Frohike snickered. "Only if one of them is running around braless."

Mulder spread it on the counter thoughtfully. "I'd pay to see that."

Frohike snorted. "When you get fired from the FBI, Mulder, we'll start a UFO-themed strip club."

Mulder smirked. "After I send this and the… cupcakes… back as evidence, it shouldn't take long."

Langly sat heavily on one of the beds. "I am never eating those things again. The Twinkie jokes were bad enough…"

Frohike grinned at Mulder. "And you wanted to go out for Saucy Tarts."

Mulder laughed. "Just so you know, if something like this turns up at the office on Scully's birthday, she is definitely going to shoot me again. Especially if you guess the size right."

"I'd go with a dark green, for her," Frohike reflected.

"Cupcakes?" Mulder gave it a suggestive twist.

Langly whimpered. "Johnny! Make them stop!"

Byers closed his mouth on a sigh. "If we're through with Open Mic Night at the Improv? We've got things to do today."

Mulder grinned at him. "Not so fast. We need pictures."

"Johnny!"

Byers sighed again. He was getting a lot of practice. "Neck-down will do, I think."

It failed to comfort Langly. "I am not getting' naked in front of him," he said, pointing at Mulder.

"Give it a rest, Hippie," Frohike instructed calmly. "He's not interested in you, okay?"

"He was last night."

Frohike grinned. "And twenty minutes after you guys left, he was interested in the chair."

There was a long moment while they contemplated this and carefully avoided looking at Mulder. Eventually he cleared his throat. "May I remind everyone that I had been drugged. As in, given mind-altering substances against my will. I wasn't exactly myself."

This was too much, and quiet snickers broke out. Frohike sifted through the available cheap shots and settled for a casual "Does this mean the chair isn't getting a second date?"

Mulder sighed and regarded the fairly random collection of journalists. "Leaving aside anything I may or may not have done last night," bad choice of words, leading to more adolescent snickering, "photographs are just as important to your work as they are to mine. That said, unless anyone's got anything particularly decorative going on somewhere special that they're proud of, we don't need to turn this into a photo shoot for Wild Dicks Unlimited Magazine." He offered them all a disarming smile. "C'mon, boys, what are we hiding, holes in our underwear? It's just us guys here."

Jimmy blinked. "Uh… I don't think that works… when… everybody's…" His voice trailed off.

Langly glowered. "When everybody's what?"

Jimmy backed away. "Nothing. Forget I said it."

"Listen, you—"

"Enough," Byers pleaded. "Let's just get this over with."

Frohike took pity on his best friends. "We've got three cameras, remember. Take less time if we split up anyhow. Byers, you two go decide what's worth pictures and what's not, up to you," he jerked his head at them, "and Jimmy, you and J. Wayne can get some pictures for each other in here with J. Wayne's camera, and Mulder and I'll use his camera in our room. Okay? If you get anybody's face, just delete it and try again. It might be the key to this, or it might just be for the files, but either way, let's make sure we don't shower away evidence just because it's embarrassing." There were nods, ranging from reluctant to relieved.

"Which reminds me," Mulder commented. "Is our bathtub crab-free again?"

Jimmy nodded. "I got 'em all into two garbage bags."

Byers raised an eyebrow. "That's far more than they could possibly have gotten from the origami. Unless there were more?"

"We assumed there was extra this morning, yeah," Mulder said. "They came prepared." He headed through the connecting door, followed by Frohike. "Let's meet at the van when we're done."

Frohike nodded. "Clean up carefully. It's probably just Magic Marker, but it'd suck to get stuck with UGM-shaped rashes or something."

"Mulder'd want pics of that too," Langly grumbled.

"Bet your colorful ass," the agent replied.

**

Jimmy and J. Wayne regarded each other like mutual losers in a bad game of strip poker.

"The one on your back's pretty good," Jimmy said thoughtfully. "Looks like a big spider or something."

J. Wayne nodded over his shoulder at his reflection in the dressing mirror. "What's that on the back of my leg?"

"Which one?"

"This one. It looks a little like…"

"A bunch of ants?"

"Yeah."

"And the things on your front are, what, ladybugs?"

J. Wayne sighed. "Probably. With their wings half open." He gazed at himself a moment longer. "Caterpillar, I think," pointing to one thigh. "Butterfly," calf, "more ants," left arm, "dragonfly, maybe, or lacewing or something," right arm.

Jimmy grinned. "You're good at this."

"Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah. That one going up your cheek looks like part of a grasshopper. If you took your shorts off, I could tell."

"It's okay," J. Wayne sighed. "I think I'll keep that one to myself, actually."

Jimmy shrugged. "You don't have to get all embarrassed or anything. I've seen hundreds of naked guys, you know, in showers and stuff, and we're always getting strip-searched, and there was that time with Byers in prison, so it's totally not a big deal."

J. Wayne edged away. "N-no, that's okay. I think there's plenty for photos."

Jimmy nodded. "That's cool. Why bugs?"

J. Wayne shook his head and let himself be distracted. "It's a popular type of crop circle design. They call them insectograms. They're usually more symbolic. Sometimes you see them on rocks, and they can be pretty elaborate. I would think yours are petroglyphs, too. They're in brown, after all," he said, studying Jimmy's chest. "Gray and brown seem like rock colors, maybe. You know…" He frowned and cocked his head for a different angle. "I'm not sure about that. Yours don't look like insects at all. The more I look at it, the more I think they're animals. This one here, I think might be a turtle."

Jimmy squinted down at himself. "Where's the head?"

"Over here, maybe."

"Weird. So what's this thing? His tongue?"

"Well," J. Wayne said slowly. "It might be playing a flute."

"That's stupid. Where would a turtle get a flute?"

J. Wayne raised amused eyebrows. "It might be a legend, I think. I'm not sure. This one looks more like a deer, from the front. These could be antlers."

"They look like feet."

J. Wayne pushed him in front of the mirror. "You're looking at them upside-down."

"Oh, I see it now."

"I think yours could be earth designs. Geoglyphs. The brown is more like dirt than rock." He traced a design on Jimmy's shoulder, thinking. "This is a lot like a hummingbird. There's something about it…"

After a moment Jimmy said tentatively, "Uh, Wayne? I'm, like, really flattered and everything, but I just don't go for guys. So you could maybe move your hand."

J. Wayne turned bright red and snatched his hand away as though it had been bitten. "Sorry, Jimmy. I don't know…"

Jimmy shook his head. "I mean, it's okay. I'm just not into guys. But all morning, everybody's been looking at everybody like the first day in the locker room so I just thought I'd say."

Still blushing furiously, J. Wayne thought back. "It has been a little like that, hasn't it."

"Yeah. Listen, Wayne?"

"I'm really sorry, Jimmy. I wasn't thinking—"

"No, really. It's okay. But let me ask you something. You were wearing shorts last night and I was wearing sweats."

J. Wayne nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay, so, we still have this stuff all over us. So these Men In Black guys took our clothes off so they could draw this weird stuff on us."

J. Wayne sighed. It was an inescapable conclusion, but one he hadn't felt like spending a lot of time on. "Yeah."

"So what else did they do?"

**

"Turn around," Frohike said pensively.

Mulder grinned. "If you want to look at my ass, Mel…"

"Just turn around. There's something weird about this."

"What, besides the fact that someone put the Jedi Mind Whammy on us and then spent what looks like a couple of hours drawing crop circles all over," he leered, "and I do mean all over, our defenseless, naked bodies?"

Frohike sighed. "Yeah, besides that. Just turn around, okay?"

Mulder didn't seem interested in complying quickly. First he walked in front of the long mirror and, making sure Frohike was watching, leaned way over to plant one hand firmly against the wall, offering two views of an excellent profile. He raked his other hand languidly through his hair, then slid it down his face, his head falling back as the hand continued down his chest. It crept across to play with one nipple and then back to peak the other.

Frohike, watching this, couldn't quite decide whether to laugh or jump the agent. The only thing that kept him where he stood were the impossibly distracting patterns rippling across all that smooth skin as Mulder vamped.

Mulder seemed determined to extract some measure of satisfaction for the way he'd been woken up. His hand moved down his side, skimming across ribs with leisurely enjoyment, resting lightly on his hip for a heartbeat too long before spidering inward to graze what Frohike realized was definitely one of Mulder's more respectable erections.

As Mel stared, a swelling bead of liquid at the tip caught the light and shone there for a second before it fell, trailing a radiant thread after it. The world had frozen again, icicle sharp, but this time there was no horror, only an overwhelming need. And Mulder.

Frohike thought he could hear the drop hit the carpet, but he was certain he could hear his heartbeat. He took a trembling step closer to Mulder, then another. It was like moving through cotton. Mulder's hand was still on his cock, and Mel wasn't even sure the man was still breathing. Another step and he could hear the agent's heartbeat, too.

It was the only sign the other man wasn't just some perversely beautiful work of art. He hadn't moved, for once was totally silent. Frohike was close enough to feel the heat of Mulder's skin, the faint puffs of breath.

He reached out.

**

"Do we have to do this, John?"

Byers sighed. Langly was likely to whine about this all day. It wasn't, really, John's idea of a fun time, either, though perhaps under other, more private, circumstances, candid photography might hold some appeal. He shook the thought away.

"Yes, we do. You know we do." He slipped his jacket off and hung it neatly on a chair, toeing his shoes off and reaching for his tie.

Langly stood in the middle of the room, arms folded tightly over his t-shirt. "I just don't like the idea of Mulder having pictures of me, naked."

Byers almost laughed as he pulled off his shirt. "I can see your point. Look, we don't have to get pictures of everything. I'm sure he's seen your chest before."

Langly snorted. "Yeah, and he's seen all of you before. So has Skinner." Byers blushed furiously while Langly went on. "And I don't suppose it's occurred to you that Skinner's gonna see the pics, and so is anybody else who can get into Mulder's office—which is everybody. Scully, Krycek, Cancer Man.."

Byers grimaced. "We'll make sure Mulder doesn't put our names on it, all right? Let's just get this over with."

Byers was down to his shorts, but Langly was still fully clothed. He raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Langly recrossed his arms and glared. "No."

"Langly…"

"No. I'm not doing it." A stray shaft of light caught the determined expression, playing across straw gold hair as Langly shook his head.

Byers took a step toward him. "Yes, you are," he said with a faint smile. A little closer still.

Langly swallowed and tried for resolve. "I hate pictures. You know I hate pictures, Johnny."

Byers tugged at the hem of Langly's t-shirt. "I know. But I also know something else about you." The hand slid under his shirt and he took a careful breath. "I know," Byers said softly in his ear, "how far you'll go to print a story."

Langly yelped. "Print!"

Byers put a finger to his lips. "Figure of speech." He smiled again. "It's just for the records."

Langly sighed as his shirt was lifted over his head. "I hate it when you humor me."

Byers chuckled. "It would be," his hands at Langly's fly, "totally unethical for us to include ourselves in a story. So you're safe."

The younger man ran a nervous tongue over his lips. "Unethical."

"Totally." Byers slid his hand into Langly's boxers. "So, why don't we just…" Langly's jeans dropped to the carpet, "get this over with. Hmm?"

"If you wanted me naked…" surrender on a gasp, "all you had to do was ask, Johnny."

**

J. Wayne finished looking through the images on the camera. "I guess that'll do. You can go shower now. I need to check some things." He looked around. "Have you seen my laptop?"

Jimmy grabbed a towel. "I think you left it in the other room."

"Okay, thanks." He went to knock on the adjoining door and hesitated. He thought about the way everybody seemed to be acting, a little surprised that Jimmy had managed to pin it down. He was a nice guy, but not that smart. But he'd been exactly right, and J. Wayne figured he could guess what was going on in Mulder and Frohike's room.

He smirked a little to himself. Jimmy was already in the shower, singing at the top of his voice. It should be enough to cover the sound of him knocking, especially if he didn't knock too loudly. He had a feeling whatever the guys were up to would be worth seeing uninterrupted. Then again, based on everything he'd seen—and heard—so far, the two of them were unlikely to mind an audience.

He knocked on the door, not as firmly as he might have, and quickly pulled it open. "Sorry, but I—"

Oh, wow. J. Wayne stood in the doorway and just stared. This was definitely worth the crabs and the peaches and the gooey beach things.

Frohike was sprawled on the floor, eyes closed, an expression of bliss on his weathered features. His hands were tangled in Mulder's hair as the head bobbed above his crotch. One hand moved restlessly across Frohike's dark, furry chest, the other propped underneath him between Frohike's legs.

Frohike stifled a moan and looked up, startled.

J. Wayne grinned. "I hope you guys already got the pictures, because you're smearing the ink."

Mulder lifted his head, amusement bright in his eyes. Amazingly even Frohike was blushing, and J. Wayne could feel himself turning a little red, but Mulder didn't seem remotely embarrassed.

His grin got bigger. "You want the barnacle back?"

Frohike sighed. "We got… distracted."

"You don't say."

Mulder pulled himself off of Frohike with a wet smack and leaned back on one arm in unmistakable invitation. "Did you just come to watch, J. Wayne? Or do you want to… lend a hand?"

J. Wayne started laughing as Frohike tried unsuccessfully to cover himself. "I don't think we have time. John and Ringo are probably waiting for us."

Frohike snorted. "Bet they're not."

Mulder laughed and patted Frohike's thigh. "I have to say, this is one of the better knockout drugs I've been given."

Frohike sat up unhappily and reached for his shorts. "Yeah, kudos to the MIB for their research program. In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to do Mulder first. Shut up, Mulder," he said without looking.

The agent snickered. "So was there… something you wanted, J. Wayne?"

Frohike sighed. "Let's take a rain check on that, okay? We really do need the pictures."

He laughed and crossed the room. "I left my laptop in here. There was something odd about the marks on Jimmy that I wanted to check."

Frohike frowned. "Odd how?"

"I'm not sure. But he's got a hummingbird on his shoulder that might be from the Nazca Lines. A few other zoomorphs."

Frohike nodded. "I bet you're right. I know mine are crop circles, and so are Mulder's, but they're different, besides the color."

Mulder looked down at his chest, tracing an abstract pattern of curves and lenses. "I think mine are hoaxes."

Frohike stared. "That's what it was."

"Well, this is one of the Kennewick designs. I've got a postcard of it on the wall in my office. And look at this one…" He gestured lower.

"Mulder, nobody's falling for that."

Mulder waved him off. "No, I mean it. This is one of the Ripley Formations. The ratcheting spiral is unmistakable."

Frohike leaned closer. "That was a hoax?"

"Circlemakers. And this is the Sea of Souls shattered petals formation, also theirs."

"I suppose we should be grateful they didn't put the Hello Kitty design on your butt."

Mulder laughed and sat up. "Yours aren't hoaxes, though. That Milk Hill Bee on your side is extremely well done. They're green?" It was a question.

J. Wayne raised his eyebrows.

"It all looks brownish to him. He's red-green colorblind," Frohike explained. "Yeah, green. What about yours, J. Wayne?"

He looked up from his computer. "Insectograms. Petroglyphs, I expect. Jimmy's got a turtle playing a flute on him. Might be Navajo. And here's the whale from the Nazca Lines. He's got that across his, uh, lower back."

Frohike shook his head. "I can't wait to see what the boys come up with."

**

Langly flopped back onto the bed, panting. "Oh, man."

Byers sighed. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

Langly snorted. "That's what you said the first time."

Byers rolled over, blushing. "I mean, we have things to do."

Langly took a lazy stretch. "I was going to remind you, but you seemed to be having fun."

"Very considerate. I suppose we'd better get cleaned up and finish the photos."

Langly smirked. "I think you ruined that one."

Byers looked at his stomach. "Oh."

"What was it supposed to be, anyway?"

Byers squinted at it. "You know, I think it's a constellation. Ursa Minor, maybe. Because this…" He broke off, blushing.

Langly took a closer look. "The Little Dipper," he snickered. "I guess that makes your dick the North Star."

"We're not getting pictures of that."

Langly just laughed.

**

They assembled at the van nearly an hour later. Frohike gave Byers a look.

"Took you guys long enough."

Byers immediately shaded bright red while Langly tried to cover his laughter with a coughing fit.

"Did you at least remember the pictures?"

"Some," Langly choked. It took a couple of minutes of Byers and Frohike pounding him on the back to get him to stop.

"Are you okay, Ringo?"

Langly smiled weakly. "Yeah, I'm okay." He turned his gaze on Frohike. "Did you get the pictures?"

Frohike blushed slightly while Mulder grinned. "Yeah, yeah."

"Well," Byers commented, still embarrassed. "It does look as though… we might… get more done today if we… ah, try some different arrangements."

Mulder snickered as Frohike sighed. "Suppose so. I know I'm gonna be really interested in the results of those carpet samples, Byers."

"I bet," Langly snickered, but there wasn't much heart in it.

"I'd say that finding out more about our friends with the natty fashion sense has become a top priority, all things considered," Mulder observed. "And aside from just waiting around for them to get back to us, there's really only one place to start with that."

"The Nordstrom men's wear department?" J. Wayne asked with a half smile.

Langly almost laughed. "You and Mulder are a bad influence on him, Fro."

Mel's grin had bounced back. "Somebody has to be."

**

Over breakfast, they discussed how to stake out Payter.

"There's a sort of junkyard a few blocks away," Frohike offered. "We can park the van there, there's a whole bunch of cars. Nobody'll notice."

"We need to get close, though," Byers pointed out. "Someone needs to look in the windows. We don't know if he's alone."

Mulder snickered. "Look for black hats and sunglasses?"

"Whatever," Frohike said. "We should also wire him for audio, video if we can get it. He's got to have some contact. Phone calls, visitors, whatever. It won't do us any good if we don't know what they're up to."

"So we need to get him to the door and distracted," Byers concluded. "Any preferences?"

"He's seen me and J. Wayne and Mulder. It's gonna have to be you or Langly or… You or Langly." Frohike grimaced. "No offense, Jimmy. You don't improvise that well."

"Not that Langly or I do." Byers sighed. "I can do the religious thing, I suppose."

"I don't think we have time to go find a few copies of The Book of Mormon. I left them in the warehouse because they took up too much space. You'd have to do most of the street if you want it to be believable."

"Did we bring the puppy thing?" Langly asked. "I'm pretty good at that."

"The puppy thing?" Mulder inquired, gazing with interest at Frohike.

"Settle down, you pervert," Frohike told him. "Sometimes we use a Have You Seen This Puppy flyer."

"We used the last of those on the Kodama job," Byers said pointedly, looking at Langly. "It's on the to-do list."

"I forgot!"

"Kiss and make up, boys," Frohike suggested distractedly. "Subscriptions to Spider Fancy?" he asked hopefully. Byers shook his head. "Cockatoo Fancy? Bigfoot Fancy?"

Mulder laughed. "You might actually have to come across with that one, out here."

Jimmy cleared his throat. Langly covered his eyes. "We could just try to sell them subscriptions to The Lone Gunman. We might even make some money."

There was a long silence as the rest of them regarded each other with resignation.

"Jimmy," Byers began carefully.

"Look, dummy," Langly said. "When you're illegally surveilling somebody you suspect is a part of a secret global conspiracy dedicated to covering up, sometimes violently, the kind of thing that it's your job to report on, it's a bad idea to give them, you know, your names and your mailing address. Got it?"

Frohike grinned suddenly. "We could offer subscriptions to Powder Keg."

Mulder started laughing at the horrified expression on J. Wayne's face. Within seconds Langly was reduced to giggles, too.

Byers sighed. "That's a little cold-blooded, isn't it?"

Frohike threw a sugar packet at Mulder. "Okay, stuff it back into the little clown car. J. Wayne, relax, it was a joke. So what do we have?"

"I saw the BGH petition in one of the files," Byers said thoughtfully.

Frohike blinked at him. "Well, I guess it's good we have it, but, why? What file?"

Byers looked casually at the ceiling. "One or another. I'll find it."

Everyone stared. "You don't remember where something is?" Frohike demanded.

Byers flushed. "I didn't say that."

The light dawned. He turned to Jimmy. "Of course. You filed the fake Bovine Growth Hormone petition in the Cattle Mutilations folder."

Jimmy shrugged. "Maybe. Was it about cows?"

Langly snickered.

Frohike took pains not to meet anyone's eyes. "I suppose we did at least bring the thru-glass receivers?"

Byers nodded a little meekly. "Eight of them."

Still looking out the window. "Are they waterproof?"

Langly followed his eyes. "We brought the duct tape, too."

Frohike stood, sighing heavily. "Okay. Let's get this show on the road, MacGyver."

"Or not," Mulder said, amused, watching the door.

Frohike sat back down. "Great."

Sela Loy jingled her way over to their table. "Good morning."

Mulder gave her a pleasant smile. "Miss Loy, how nice to see you again. Gentlemen, this is Sela Loy, our tipster from last night. Miss Loy, John Byers, Jimmy Bond, and Ringo Langly."

She nodded shortly at each of them.

"So," Mulder said. "Any more predictions today? Any more… fruit?"

She shook her head. "I don't believe so. Our leader requests your presence."

Frohike raised an eyebrow. "That would be Brother Bob?"

Loy was oblivious to the mocking tone. "Yes. Brother Bob the Righteous. He has been on our path for many lifetimes, but it was only in this incarnation that he realized he could take some measure of control over the circumstances that had come to control him."

"Is it working?" Frohike wanted to know.

Loy smiled, but it was a twitchy thing. "It works for him."

"And he wants to see us?" Mulder prompted.

She nodded. "Yes. This evening at eight. He has some very important information to offer you." She gazed around the table. "All of you."

Frohike started to say something, but Mulder cut him off. "All right. Where?"

From somewhere in her outfit came what was apparently a glossy tourism brochure. "Directions and a map are inside. If you get lost, please don't hesitate to call our hotline." A small envelope followed. "These passes will get you past the guard at the gate." She looked at Mulder. "If you bring your weapon, you will be required to check it for the duration of your visit."

"Well. That's certainly very, ahm, organized," Byers commented. "Do we need identification?"

Loy shook her head and pulled a small, squat cylinder from somewhere else. "No. You need this. May I have your hands, gentlemen?"

There was a lot of nervous shuffling, and then Byers warily held out his hand. "What is it?"

"A secure identification to get you into the Center itself. You'll need to show it to the doorkeeper." She turned his hand over and pulled the cap off, stamping the back of Byers' hand with it.

When he reclaimed his hand from her trembling grip, he inspected it. "What kind of ink is this?"

"It's a special black light reactive invisible ink. It's entirely non-toxic," she added.

"Cool." Langly snickered. "Are we going to a rave?"

Loy glanced at him. "It's simply a security measure. The stamp cannot be duplicated, and it will not wash off."

"Ever?" Jimmy demanded.

She sighed. "For a few days."

J. Wayne shrugged and offered his hand. "Okay, I guess."

She stamped the rest of them, and disappeared without another word.

Frohike glared at Mulder. "What'd you go and agree to that for?"

"I'd like to find out a little more about them. For example, do they know how to fold origami?"

It silenced the table.

"That," Byers started hesitantly, "would explain a great deal."

"Not everything, though." Frohike frowned. "Like the clam. But I guess it's worth looking at."

"Wait, you guys think she's one of those Men In Black guys?"

Byers shook his head. "I doubt it, Jimmy. But we're really only assuming that what's been happening is the MIB. It might very well be something different."

"Like a bunch of heavily armed insomniac nutcases." Frohike grimaced. "That makes me feel a lot better, knowing they saw us all naked last night. All right, back at the hotel by seven."

Byers cleared his throat. "Should we consider changing hotels? You know, after…"

They looked at each other for a while and then Mel shrugged. "I don't think it'll help. They really have been four steps ahead of us the whole time. If they want to do weird shit, they'll do it no matter where we are."

Mulder's lip curled. "God knows no one has had any trouble finding us."

Nobody looked happy, but nobody argued the point, either.

Byers let it go. "Who's doing the Payter stakeout?"

"I guess Langly and I can do that, at least for the first shift."

"Stakeouts suck, Fro."

"Would you rather spend the day with Mulder, Ringo?"

Langly glared. "Fine. Stakeout it is."

Mulder laughed. "I'll take J. Wayne and we can check with some of my contacts in the area."

Frohike snorted. "I don't think so. Take Jimmy instead. Or Byers."

Byers shook his head. "I think it might be a good idea to see what J. Wayne's Mr. Rickson has to say. He and I can handle that, but someone'll have to drop us off at the car rental place. If he's not home, we'll head back to the hotel and work on the samples, and try again later."

Langly glared at J. Wayne. "Why can't Jimmy go see this guy with you?"

Mel elbowed him. "This could be a tricky interview. Not really Jimmy's thing."

Langly subsided with bad grace.

Mulder raised an eyebrow at Byers. "You think he'll talk?"

Byers shrugged. "We have nothing to lose by asking."

J. Wayne nodded. "He seemed like he had to talk about it, really. And it's been a few weeks since the MIB visited him, so maybe he's willing, now."

"You could always get him drunk before you ask," Frohike commented. "Seems to loosen his tongue."

Byers shook his head. "That's so unethical."

Frohike chuckled. "Of course it is. Word of advice, gentlemen?" His gaze took in J. Wayne and Byers both. "Dress casual."

**

Rickson's home was a large suburban with a well-manicured lawn and a number of stately trees in the front yard.

"Nice place," Byers commented approvingly. "It could indicate an organized personality, which would help us."

J. Wayne nodded thoughtfully. "When he's sober, anyway."

Byers gave a crooked smile. "Or it might just mean he has a lawn service. Have you done much of this before? Interviewing sources?"

J. Wayne grimaced. "Yeah. Zev always gives—gave—me the real crazies."

Byers chuckled. "The crazy threshold is pretty high to begin with."

"Believe me, I know. How do you want to handle this?"

"Let's just play it straight. He called you, so he wanted to talk. Let's see where he goes with it."

"But don't mention the trace."

"No. Don't give him any information he doesn't already have. It can contaminate his own recollections."

"Okay. Should we have told him we were coming?"

Byers gave him an odd look. "No. It just gives them a chance to disappear, or practice their stories. You want them unprepared."

"Sorry." J. Wayne rapped on the door, to no response. He was about to knock again when it swung inwards to reveal…

"If you're here about the taxidermy, I'm afraid I don't do that anymore."

Byers cleared his throat. "Mr. Rickson?"

The man nodded. "Yes."

J. Wayne sighed faintly.

"Mr. Joe Rickson?"

"Yes, that's right. And you are?"

Byers glanced at his companion, who was still speechless, and elected to do the talking. "I'm John Byers, and this is J. Wayne Arthur. You spoke to him when you called Powder Keg about your, ah, unusual experience." Byers heard a quiet snort beside him. "May we come in?"

"Oh, yes. I remember." Rickson smiled and held the door open. "Of course, come in." He ushered them into a large, sunny living room and directed them to a new-looking blue couch along one wall.

"Could I get you something to drink? Or eat? I have some fresh carrot juice."

Byers ignored the small noise from J. Wayne. "That would be lovely."

Rickson padded barefoot from the room to the accompaniment of rustling noises, detouring around the three foot silver mound of airline peanut packets in the middle of the room,.

J. Wayne turned to stare at Byers. "Oh, my God," he said quietly.

Byers tried not to laugh. "Well, sometimes you feel like a nut…"

J. Wayne nearly whimpered.

"Listen," Byers said quickly. "Here's how we handle this: ignore it, unless he mentions it. Then pretend it's perfectly normal."

"You've done this before?"

Byers sighed. "The bubble wrap suit is new, no. But in general."

"We're not going to get anything useful out of him."

"Unfortunately, probably not. But we're here, so we might as well find out."

Rickson returned bearing a tray with three tall glasses of a pale orange liquid. He set the tray down and, with a bare hand, passed them each a glass and a linen napkin.

Taking his own, he perched on the matching loveseat. "So you've come all this way to talk about my experience? How exciting. I wasn't certain you would."

Byers blinked. This didn't sound like a man who had to get drunk to talk about a sighting. But then, this was pretty much off the charts as far as predictability went. He shrugged internally and decided to just go with it.

"I understand you didn't get a chance to share many details over the phone?"

Peering out of a face hole cut in the full body wrap, his expression became more guarded. That was a lot closer to what Byers expected of people being interviewed about UFOs, and maybe this wouldn't be a complete waste of time.

"I'm sorry to tell you that I don't completely recall the conversation. Perhaps you could refresh my memory?"

J. Wayne's hand went to the pocket where he kept his Palm Pilot, and he glanced at Byers, who frowned but nodded slightly. "Initially, you told me it was an equilateral triangle, in black, with blue lights ranged along each side." He pulled up the file. "You told me you saw it hovering over Maury Island, though you weren't specific about where you were at the time."

The man was nodding, the bubble wrap making crinkling noises. "Yes. I remember now."

Byers concentrated on Rickson's face. He'd wrapped himself in multiple layers of large-pocket packing material, doing his torso and limbs separately. The wrap stopped at his wrists and ankles, where silvery duct tape held it neatly in place. It had been arranged in a sort of hood over his head, leaving his face free, at least. This wasn't exactly the weirdest thing he'd seen a source do, and after the past week it was almost boring.

"You also told me the craft had a round, transparent, well, you called it a window, set flat into the bottom of it, and a sort of transparent, um…" J. Wayne managed to keep an almost straight face, "bubble, on top"

"Yes, of course. I was actually out at Point Robinson. There's a lighthouse there. Perhaps I should have explained this better. The craft was hovering over the Old Maury Cemetery when I noticed it. I happened to be looking that direction because I needed to make some topographical calculations for my work there. You see, it's important to determine if there are any tumuli in the area of concern, no matter how slight. They can break up the flow of energy and cause unwanted knots in the nutrient streams, which of course leads to dead patches."

J. Wayne winced and Byers sighed faintly. "So you didn't see it arrive?"

"No. I did see it leave. It tilted up slightly at one corner and sped off, with sort of a skipping motion. Almost like a rock across a lake. It was quite an unusual sight."

J. Wayne seemed puzzled, but nodded. "I can imagine. Now, the second time you called, you—"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Byers shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"How fast would you estimate it went?" Byers interrupted. "I had the impression it was very slow?"

Rickson gave him a look. "No, it was fairly fast, I thought." He seemed nervous, the bubble wrap rubbing against itself as he fidgeted. "It's hard to judge speed at a distance, but it was out of sight within a minute, once it started moving."

"Could you say how big it was?"

"No, I'm afraid not. As I said, the distance…"

Byers nodded sympathetically. He started to ask another question, but was interrupted by a beeping. Rickson stood up and reached into a slit in the wrap with a series of squeaks, pulling loose a cell phone.

"I have to take this."

He turned away, and J. Wayne shot a look at Byers. Byers shook his head again and mouthed "Later". J. Wayne nodded.

"My Lord," Rickson said abruptly. "Have you tried cinnamon?"

Byers raised an eyebrow. J. Wayne shrugged.

"I see. And the citrine crystals I gave you? Oh, dear. Not even the Finzi? 'Before And After Summer', I assume. Oh."

He took a deep breath. "Well, yes, yes, of course. I'll be there instantly. Please don't panic. I'm certain we can save it." He moved into the adjoining room for a moment and came back with a black case of the sort doctors in old movies carried. "No, please! Remember, your fear is poison!" He clicked the phone shut and turned to them.

"I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen, but I must go out. Perhaps you could come by again later?"

Byers stood. "Perhaps in a day or so."

"Excellent." He motioned them to the door. "Duty calls."

"One last question," Byers said on the porch. "I'm wondering why you called Powder Keg with your… information?"

"What?" He pulled his key from the lock with a touch of impatience.

"Why did you contact Powder Keg, instead of a local organization?"

"Oh, yes. My brother-in-law provided the number. He's a subscriber."

"Thank you. Sorry to keep you from your emergency. I hope it's not too bad."

With a sick look and a hushed voice, he gave them the tragic details. "It may be. It's crabgrass."

**

"That guy was weird."

Mulder sighed. "I'm sure he thought the same about you."

Jimmy looked surprised. "Why?"

"Well, I doubt he expected you to knock over the table with his coconut pearl and vegetable ivory collection while trying to make conversation with his pet lizards."

"I helped him find them all," Jimmy said defensively. "Anyway, I never knew coconuts made pearls."

Mulder shrugged. "They probably don't."

"What about the vegetable ivory?"

"It's some kind of seed, that's all."

Jimmy was quiet for a while. "He didn't seem like he believed in crop circles and aliens and stuff."

"Not everyone does."

"He knew a lot about them, though."

"That was the point, yes."

"Where are we going next?"

"The University of Washington. We have an appointment to talk to someone in their Paleolithic anthropology department about the petroglyph and geoglyph designs." He glanced at Jimmy. "I have an appointment. Maybe you should stay in the car this time."

Jimmy shrugged. "Okay."

"After that, we can head to the library and see if we can identify the constellations and fish designs that were on Byers and Langly. The fish looked like deep sea stuff to me."

Jimmy frowned. "Do they do those on rocks, too?"

"I guess we'll find out."

Jimmy nodded. "Okay. I hope they don't mind if we're late."

Mulder cast him another glance. "Why would we be late?"

Jimmy shrugged again. "Because you missed the exit for the university a while back and I think we're lost again."

**

Langly had approached several doors with the petition, only to be rebuffed by three of the four people who answered, including their target. While Payter—or whoever he was—was thus occupied, Frohike had sneaked around the house placing Micro 6 Thru Glass transmitters on various windows and making sure they wouldn't get rained on.

When they turned the shotgun directional receiver on, the man was talking.

"I bet he called somebody," Langly speculated.

"And that, Arnie, is why we wear hardhats on the job," said Payter.

Frohike and Langly exchanged glances.

"Arnie?" Langly said. "What kind of MIB is named Arnie?"

"Shh."

"Just look at this room," Payter shouted. "Body segments everywhere!" And then he laughed, a weirdly normal sound, considering.

Langly's eyes went wide. "You think—?"

Frohike shook his head. "Segments?"

"Maybe they are aliens."

"You know, Vern, the thought of what this place is going to look like in about a week just gives me the creeps." There was a pause, and then another laugh.

Langly looked ready to panic. Frohike put a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. Let's just listen some more. There's something weird going on here. He was alone, right?"

Langly nodded. "I didn't see anyone else."

"Me either. There's something definitely not right about this."

"Did you detect something a little ominous," Payter went on, "in the way they said 'See you later'?"

Langly shook his head. "I didn't say that."

"Oooooweeeeee!" Frohike hastily tuned the volume down. "This thing's been here a loooooooong time. Well, thank God for ketchup."

Langly put his hands over his mouth, eyes bulging.

Frohike was more baffled when Payter cackled. "Luke! On your right! Cattle shark!"

Langly looked up from his search for a barf bag.

"Cattle shark?" Frohike demanded. "Cattle shark?"

Langly slumped back in his chair, a lot less green suddenly. "Cattle shark," he repeated. "Cattle shark." He snapped his fingers. "You know what he's doing?" He grabbed the laptop and started typing rapidly. "Cattle shark."

"Thor's hammer, screwdriver—"

"—And crescent wrench!" Langly finished with him. "Fro, he's reading a Far Side book."

"Inexplicably, Bob's porcupine goes flat." Another moment of silence, and then Payter was howling with laughter.

Frohike sighed and turned the volume way, way down.

**

"I don't think that was really him," J. Wayne said tentatively.

"I wondered about that. You seemed surprised. And he didn't really act like a man who had to get drunk to talk to reporters."

"Is that why you didn't want me to talk about the Men In Black?"

Byers nodded. "With what happened to Payter, it seems logical that they replaced him, too. I'd rather not tip our hand."

J. Wayne thought about it for a while. "If he was an impersonator, he wasn't doing a very good job."

Byers half smiled. "Maybe not. Though generally if he wasn't what he said he was, we could have expected him to have behaved more normally. He was weird enough to be authentic. And you're the only one who had talked to him, and you are somewhat inexperienced, as well as being someone with whom we've not worked before. It would be reasonable to expect us to dismiss your sense that he's different."

He looked worried. "Plus I've dragged you all out all this way and we've got nothing but crab confetti and a bra to show for it now."

"We've done stories on less. Don't worry about it. We'll get to the bottom of this. For now, though, I want to take another look at those photos from this morning."

"And the carpet fibers?"

Byers colored slightly. "Ehr, yes. Those too."

**

"How's it going, boys?"

Frohike sighed. "Nothing yet."

"I brought lunch, anyway."

"Great," Langly said. "I'm starving. What'd you get?"

Mulder smirked. "Dick's."

Langly turned to stare at him. "Uh, what?"

"I got Dick's."

"That's what I thought you said." He didn't seem much happier for the confirmation. He glanced at Frohike, who was smiling.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"How many?" Langly wanted to know.

Mulder was still grinning. "Eight."

Langly blinked. "No wonder Frohike wanted you out here."

Mulder laughed. "Dick's Drive-In. It's pretty popular out here. I got eight Deluxe burgers, and fries. Plus four chocolate shakes. Not to be missed."

Langly sighed and moved back to let Mulder and Jimmy in. "If anybody could find something like that, Mulder, it'd be you."

Frohike dug into the bag for some fries. "Langly's going to cover part of your shift so you and I can go on an errand."

Mulder narrowed his eyes. "An errand? You forget to walk the crabs? Are we picking up milk, bread, and depilatory for Bigfoot?"

"Bigfoot's a hoax, even you know that. We're meeting a contact," Frohike explained. "This afternoon at two. I got the email."

Langly snickered. "This is perfect for you, Mulder. You and Fro have to take this one."

Frohike snorted. "Should be fun."

Mulder looked from one to the other. "Okay, what's the joke."

Frohike tried not to laugh. "The guy wants someone to meet him at work. He works for, uh, something called the T&A Supply Company."

Langly snickered some more. "It's perfect. You two should enjoy it."

"The…"

Frohike laughed. "Fight it down, Mulder. It's a flooring company. Foundations to tiles, that sort of thing. It just happens to have a stupid name."

Mulder sighed. "No kidding."

Langly snorted, mouthing the word "Fox".

Mulder reached across and thumped his headset. Langly scrabbled it off as the feedback whined in his ears.

"Asshole," he muttered.

Mulder smiled sweetly. "I value your opinion, Ringo."

Frohike shook his head. "Don't make me give you a time out, boys."

Mulder sighed. "Okay, so who is this guy?"

Frohike shrugged. "He said he'd meet us in the parking lot. We'll leave Jimmy here with Langly and go check it out."

Langly eyed Jimmy with disfavor. "Why don’t you take Jimmy with you. In case it's a set up or something."

Frohike shook his head. "Nope. Gotta have two people on stakeouts. You know that."

"He's right, though. Backup would be a good thing."

Frohike looked at Mulder for a moment. "Okay." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Where are you guys? Oh. Weirdness. Well, can you spare the kid for a bit? Mulder and I are going to meet someone, and it kind of smells funny." He listened for a bit. "Well, we're not exactly drowning in leads. No, he can tell us on the way. Okay, okay. We'll swing by and pick him up. See you in a while."

He looked up into Mulder's grin and Langly's smirk.

"You should take Byers, too. You three need a chaperon."

Frohike raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, and Byers sure kept your minds on your work this morning."

Langly turned bright pink and pulled the headset back on. "Whatever."

**

"Nobody's coming," Mulder said for the fifth time, scanning the parking lot. "The whole thing was a joke."

"Ten more minutes," Frohike responded, also for the fifth time. "It's not like we're up to our necks in leads, here." He shrugged. "At least it's not raining down here."

"Maybe he saw J. Wayne and it spooked him."

They'd arrived early, so the kid had suggested circling around the lot and watching from behind some cars nearer the other driveway in the hopes of catching a plate number if the guy came in or went out through there.

Otherwise, the plan was for Mulder to stay in the car and watch the drive they had parked near, and for Frohike to meet the contact when—or if—he appeared. They were supposed to be waiting for someone, they assumed a man, but it could just as easily have been a woman, with a blue jacket and a copy of a local weekly called The Stranger.

Mulder had shaken his head at this detail, even more convinced it was a joke.

A rumble behind them caused them both to turn expectantly. A cement mixer came up behind them and pulled to an idle near the construction trucks at the side of the lot. The driver, in a gray jumpsuit, hopped out of the cab, leaving the motor on and the drum turning, and dashed for the offices of the warehouse.

"Damn," Mulder sighed. "Let's just give it up."

Frohike cleared his throat, cutting off Mulder's next round of complaints. "What do you suppose that's about?"

Mulder followed his gaze. "Looks a little out of place, doesn't he," he said slowly. "Where did he come from?"

Frohike shook his head. "I don't know. I turned back, and he was right there."

They stared at a large figure leaning against a fence at the edge of the parking lot. The man, in a suit and red power tie, casually holding a tan leather briefcase, his face obscured by a newspaper, from this distance looked like he'd fit in on any downtown sidewalk, but definitely not here, on broken tarmac against dirty chain link, with a drainage ditch just beyond.

As they watched, another figure seemed to appear from nowhere to join the first. Mulder caught glimpses of dark skin and heavy glasses, another red tie, another tan briefcase.

"Those look like blue jackets to me," Frohike commented.

"Are they wearing matching wigs?" Mulder asked incredulously.

"Sure looks like it."

Mulder shook his head. "Maybe the Donald Trump look is in among lawyers this year."

Frohike smiled, opening his car door. "I think I'll go ask."

"Is that a good idea?"

Frohike looked back at him and shrugged. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"I'll remind you you said that later."

He grinned, shut the door quietly, and headed across the lot.

The closer he got, the larger he realized the unknown figures were. Not just height, but bulk. The two of them seemed to see the journalist coming, and milled about slightly, but didn't make any attempt to leave.

The hair was rising on the back of Mulder's neck, and he jumped from the car and hurried to catch up to Frohike.

Frohike had a good twenty feet head start on him, and Mulder didn't hear what he said to the strangers, but the biggest one dropped his newspaper and briefcase and scooped the journalist up under one arm as though he were an oversized teddy bear. The other figure dropped his newspaper and grabbed his case with both hands, holding it up and running forward to block Mulder as the first one headed along the fence with a struggling and furious Frohike.

Mulder slammed his fist into the gut of the one in front of him and yelped. It was like hitting a brick wall. The guy didn't even notice. It was too late to rethink his strategy, though, as Mulder's knee was already coming up hard into his assailant's groin, not that the guy noticed that, either. Mulder hit the ground in agony, his leg on fire.

The first figure had nearly reached the break in the fence. Once he got into the trees, there would be nothing they could do. Mulder scrabbled for his gun just as the briefcase came down hard on his head, and then everything went black.

**

J. Wayne saw Frohike walking towards the men at the edge of the lot and began moving closer. He wasn't sure where the guys had come from, but they hadn't come by car, and he had a feeling they wouldn't leave by car either.

He watched Mulder head after Frohike, and started to worry. A flash of movement caught his eye by the end of the fence nearest the warehouse, and he whipped his head around to see more figures in suits moving in the trees in the distance.

He heard Frohike yell and turned back just in time to see the first one start running in his direction, Frohike under his arm, as the other dashed towards Mulder.

J. Wayne looked around in a panic until he settled on the still-idling cement mixer. He scrambled gracelessly into the cab, thanking the god of feckless journalists as he quickly scanned the controls.

As the one carrying Frohike loped toward him, J. Wayne mashed the controls randomly, relieved to see the barrel start to tilt downwards. It didn't occur to him to wonder if there was anything in the mixer until then, but the sudden scraping noise as the truck was jerked about by its shifting load put that fear to rest at least. Now he just needed to see if he could work out how to turn the thing…

He heard a howl and glanced into the mirror in time to see Frohike's would-be abductor slide in the wet concrete on the lot surface and go down flailing. It gave him the extra seconds he needed to lever the chute into position while the drum continued its upward angle, managing to get enough of the heavy muck on them to force him to let go of Frohike.

The other figure had reached them by this time, and yanked the larger shape from the mess with seemingly little effort. Forgetting everything, they bolted for the gap in the fence and the woods beyond.

By now, men were swarming out of the warehouse like outraged ants.

J. Wayne stepped out of the truck onto wobbly legs and looked for Mulder. The agent was rolling over, starting to sit up. J. Wayne took it as a good sign and went to make sure Frohike was okay. The furious driver intercepted him, pinning him against the side of the truck. "What the fuck did you do?"

A woman with a serious bleach job dashed up and grabbed the driver's upraised arm. "Don't hit him, Bobby! He was tryin' to save that other guy!"

Bobby glared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw the whole thing!" the girl wailed. "Those guys were kidnappin' that little guy and this guy was tryin' to stop them!"

Bobby turned his attention back to J. Wayne, who tried to decide if he should be more alarmed by the big guy who seemed to want to punch him, or by the fashion victim who was batting her eyelashes and licking her lips at him over Bobby's shoulder.

"I can pay you for any damage," he said quickly. "They were attacking my friends, and I didn't know what else to do."

Bobby's fist came down. J. Wayne found that the mention of money often smoothed out these scenes better than explanations, and, in truth, after what he thought he'd seen, he wasn't sure he had an explanation.

"Well, now."

"Let me check on my friends while you determine how much damage I've done."

Bobby nodded grudgingly and followed him. The woman tagged along, not that J. Wayne was surprised. Around the back of the truck quite a crowd had gathered as Frohike cursed and demanded someone help him up.

J. Wayne reached a hand down and someone pushed it aside.

"Gloves, son," came the avuncular advice from a man who was pulling on heavy orange rubber. "You don't wanna get burned."

"It had to be a Portland mix, didn't it," Frohike groaned.

"Coulda been quick dry," his helper commented cheerfully. "Settle down. We'll get you outta there, hose you off."

It took three strong men to do it, but they pulled him from the cement with a sucking noise and half-dragged him over to a patch of dirt by the loading dock and turned a hose on him.

Mulder staggered up about then, and stared speechlessly at the chaos around them. Another blast of water followed by a particularly high pitched yell. J. Wayne winced in sympathy; the water had to be cold.

Mulder shook his head a little, trying not to smile. "I leave you alone for thirty seconds, J. Wayne, and you turn Mel into the world's biggest garden gnome?"

He sighed and made an attempt to explain.

Mulder managed to suppress most of the snickering, and settled for shaking his head when he was done. "Thanks," he said quietly, watching as Frohike squelched over to them. "I owe you one. Let's go straighten this out."

Mulder waved his badge around, J. Wayne waved his checkbook around, and Frohike paced along the fence with the abandoned briefcases in hand, stiffening gently in the sun.

J. Wayne wrote a big enough check that the suddenly helpful Bobby came across with several bottles of something called Neutralite, which he assured J. Wayne would keep Frohike from developing contact dermatitis, something most of the older guys didn't seem to think was a big risk anyway. It also seemed to be big enough that Bobby's faux blonde latched five obscenely long cherry-red fingernails onto J. Wayne's upper arm and dropped a phone number into his suit pocket as she invited him to call her "Dawn—or any time".

As sanity reasserted itself around the warehouse, the three of them looked at each other over the roof of the car.

"J. Wayne," Mulder sighed, "I think you're driving."

Frohike grunted. "Pop the trunk. We've still got some empty garbage bags. I think we've ruined enough rentals this week."

J. Wayne took the keys from Mulder. "Bobby seemed to think we should get you into some clean clothes as soon as possible."

"We'll find a store and you can run in and get me some sweats or something before you have to chisel me out of these jeans." He gazed at Mulder. "And some aspirin for him."

"Fro?" Mulder said sweetly.

"Oh, God."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Forget the aspirin. Let him suffer."

J. Wayne was staring across the parking lot as Frohike dumped the briefcases in the trunk and arranged the garbage bags across the back seat. He cleared his throat. "They weren't costumes, were they."

Mulder and Frohike looked at each other. "The suits were," Frohike said carefully.

Mulder sighed. "The footprints…"

"The concrete was slippery," Frohike interrupted with feeling.

Mulder shrugged, not looking at them. "How slippery, though?"

"Probably not that slippery," Frohike admitted.

"I just want to be clear about what it is we're suggesting, here," J. Wayne began in a reasonable tone.

Frohike brushed at himself again. "I don't," he said firmly. "Not yet, anyhow. Boys, let's get out of here before I turn into lawn art." He paused. "Shut the fuck up, Mulder."

"I didn't say anything!" the agent protested, folding himself into the front passenger seat.

"You didn't have to," Frohike grumbled. "And stop smirking."

J. Wayne almost laughed. "How'd you know?"

"He always does," came the resigned reply.

**

"What's that noise?"

Langly kept his eyes on the screen. "Probably a car."

"No." Jimmy held up a hand and listened for a moment. "Kind of…"

"Shut up, will you? I think something's happening."

Jimmy's brow furrowed, but he kept his mouth shut.

"He hasn't been doing anything for a couple of hours now, and all of a sudden he's walking through every room. I don't know what's up. Maybe he's spotted our transmitters."

"I think it's a helicopter."

"What? So what. Jimmy, turn the receiver to the left. Not that much. Shit!"

Down the street, a bright orange VW Beetle had pulled up in front of the house, and Langly heard the front door close.

"He's leaving. Get up there, we'll follow him." He threw Jimmy the keys. "Hurry!"

And then everything went white.

**

Mel threw himself onto the bed. "And then we came back here."

Langly stared. "Are you guys drunk?"

"Bigfoot," Byers said blankly.

J. Wayne shrugged helplessly. "I counted seven of them."

Langly snorted. "Bigfoots? Bigfeet?"

Mulder snickered. "Look at it this way, they could have had Elvis with them."

"Maybe they were just costumes. You know, like team mascots," Jimmy offered.

Frohike grunted. "So why'd you two come back so early?"

Jimmy and Langly exchanged glances. "It's not much better than Bigfeet," Langly admitted, but didn't seem anxious to explain further.

Byers had already heard the story. "The stakeout was called on account of inclement weather."

Frohike propped himself up on one arm. "You guys bugged out because it was raining?"

Jimmy shook his head. "Snow."

Mel blinked. "What?"

"Snow," Jimmy repeated. "We had to shovel the van out."

"Jimmy, where the hell—"

"We heard a helicopter," Langly said. "It was probably airdropped. One of those fire bomber bucket things."

Mulder repositioned an ice pack. "Water spout."

Frohike glared at him. "God, I hate this state."

Langly glared at Fro. "Me too. And someone made me leave my mittens at home."

Frohike closed his eyes. "It's July. How was I supposed to know…"

Byers tried not to laugh. "While they were shoveling the stuff away, though, Payter—or whoever he is—left. They didn't get a chance to follow him."

"Figures. What'd you come up with on the samples, Byers?"

"Well, there was gas residue on the carpet fibers near the base of each door. Basically tetrafluoroethyl difluoromethyl ether," he paused, "that's Desflurane, a fairly standard OR volatile anesthetic. It's expensive, though. I can't imagine what the cost of filling three rooms with it would have been. Not to mention vaporizing it—at room temperature, it's still a liquid. I couldn't find any record of it being administered in such a generalized way. It has a very rapid onset, and wears off very quickly as well."

"Side effects?" Mulder asked.

"Nothing permanent. There may have been some tachycardia, and there's supposed to be nausea as it wears off, but—"

Frohike grinned in spite of himself. "Didn't notice any of that, myself."

Byers blushed a little. "No. As I said, it was basically Desflurane. There were other components as well, and I haven't begun to sort out what they were. Probably something to make it vaporize better, maybe something to mask the smell, which can be fairly pungent. There may have been another methyl ethyl ether administered with it, but if so it's too degraded to separate out."

Langly snickered. "At least they didn't go with the cheap stuff."

Mel glanced at his watch and stood up. "It's a little after five, so we've got time to get dinner before we go play Where's Weirdo, as long as Mulder doesn't drive, anyhow. After that, we'd probably better see if we can find out where that email came from. And we've got some briefcases in the trunk. They're empty, but we might be able to get some hair, or fur, off of them for analysis. Oh, and Byers, hide all your samples, okay? I don't want to get back to find out they've been replaced with test tubes of mosquito larvae or a shoebox full of wheatback pennies or something."

**

Brother Bob the Righteous welcomed them to his office in a surprisingly deep voice. "We don't often have outsiders among us, but Sister Brother Table," he indicated Sela Loy, "insisted in your case. She feels you might be able to help us resolve some of the issues that have… disturbed our community for so long."

He clapped his hands, and a concealed door opened behind him. An ambulatory gray robe emerged, though the possibility that a very short member was in there somewhere could not be entirely discounted. "Brother Blur, bring some more chairs for our guests."

The robe bobbed and retreated behind the door.

"Brother Blur?" J. Wayne asked politely.

Brother Bob shrugged. "Brother I Don't Know Everything's Blurry, to be precise. His glasses fell off during his initiation rites. We're fairly informal here."

Within moments, Brother Blur returned, pushing a stack of pea-green molded plastic chairs. As they helped arrange them, Loy moved forward and spoke softly in Brother Bob's ear. He listened attentively and nodded.

Once everyone was settled, Brother Bob motioned Brother Blur toward him. "Agent Mulder, Sister Brother Table tells me you're injured?"

It wasn't exactly a world-class bit of deduction, as he'd limped in. "No big deal," he said quickly. "Minor accident."

Frohike snorted, and Loy leaned over and whispered something else, even more agitated than usual.

Brother Bob regarded them with something that didn't come close enough to disbelief. "You were attacked by Bigfoot?"

Loy nodded and Frohike sighed.

"Just someone on the way to a costume party," Mulder said firmly.

Brother Bob's stare went on long enough that Mulder began to fidget.

"That may be the case," he said eventually. "Would you allow us to assist you? We have a Brother," —he waved a hand in the direction of Blur, who disappeared through the door—"he has some small talents in this area."

Mulder looked wary. "I don't really think that's necessary. What was it you wanted to tell us?"

Brother Bob sighed. "Yes. You know our circumstances, I imagine. Almost all of us are regularly taken, often for a few hours, sometimes longer. Experiments… are performed. It's unpleasant, to say the least." He shrugged. "We've taken measures to deprive them of satisfaction, but this harassment has not stopped. At times, as recently, it becomes intolerable."

"Recently?" Byers asked. "With the current wave of sightings?"

"Exactly. The last time there was such an incidence of sightings, a member of our community was taken and not returned to us. That was seven years ago, and we still must deal with the local law enforcement on the subject. They were for a long time convinced we were somehow implicated in her fate. Naturally, we are concerned again."

Frohike scrutinized the man. He seemed to believe what he was saying, but that wouldn't be unusual in a place like this. He remembered that wave fairly well, as they'd put together several stories about it. There had been reports of abductees, but he didn't recall any of them going permanently missing. Still, there was a possibility they were surrounded by nutcases who occasionally ritually sacrificed one of their own.

With the police involved, though, there'd be records, and they'd be able to track down the story and get a better picture of what had happened, without antagonizing their hosts.

"So what do you want from us?" Langly asked.

"We'd like you to speak with your Men In Black."

Mel's jaw dropped. "Our Men In Black?"

Brother Bob shook his head as though disappointed. "Agent Mulder's Men In Black, then."

Mulder stared. "They're not mine, either."

"Gentlemen. Please. It's been apparent to us for a long time that these men are agents of our government. Agent Mulder, it's inconceivable that you could have carried through your career without their approval and aid. Please talk to them for us."

"I don't—"

"Agent Mulder. Please. We'll give you whatever you want. We are not without resources." His expression tightened. "We simply can't endure this any longer."

Frohike found his voice. "Suppose… Suppose Agent Mulder could contact these men. What would you like him to say to them?"

Brother Bob relaxed minutely. "We would like you to tell them that we have been documenting this harassment for the past decade. We've amassed an extensive collection of medical records, videotape, audiotape, seismic readings, and other information. We're prepared to release this information to the world if we are not left alone."

J. Wayne blinked. "You want us to blackmail the Men In Black for you?"

Brother Bob shrugged. "If we could talk to them ourselves, we would. We'd have preferred not to involve… reporters. But then, it may turn out that we need reporters."

Byers sighed. "And that's what's in it for us."

The man inclined his head in a gesture of assent.

Langly shook his head. "What is?"

"An exclusive," Frohike said cynically. "If we keep our mouths shut and do what he wants, we get this… mountain of documentation when they decide to release it—for whatever reason."

Brother Bob smiled faintly. "Yes."

"So what's to stop us," Mel asked, "from double-crossing you? From agreeing, not talking to the MIB—assuming we even can—and getting the scoop when you decide they're not going for it?"

"You're men of honor."

Langly snorted. "And you know this how?"

Brother Bob spread his hands. "We've done our research. We feel we can trust you." He paused. "And we feel we don't have any other choices. But to answer your question, we do have information we can give you now, and as time goes on, we'll have more information we can safely release to you. Beyond that, as I said, we have resources. Tell us what you need."

"Just like that," Langly said.

"Just like that." He leaned forward. "To be honest, gentlemen, we would give anything to be rid of this nightmare."

Mulder shook his head finally. "We can't help you. I'm sorry. I would if I could, but as far as I know the MIB have nothing to do with the government, and I don't know that they have that kind of control over the abductions, either."

Brother Bob nodded, but didn't seem upset. "Sometimes the seeds we plant lie dormant. And sometimes they sprout in the darkness." He sat up abruptly. "But enough of this. I know you'll do the right thing." He made a small gesture at Loy, who went through the door, returning in seconds with a thin, pale man, moving with a hunching posture beneath his loose robes.

"This is Brother Sweet Gum Tree. He has the gift of healing," said Brother Bob. "It was bestowed by our kidnappers."

Byers focused sharply on the shape under the robe, a speculative tilt to his head.

"Please let him heal you, Agent Mulder. Sister Brother Table feels you will all need to be at your best tonight."

"That doesn't sound good," Langly muttered.

Frohike had caught Byers' expression and nodded at Mulder. "Go ahead. I'd like to see this."

The man knelt in front of Mulder's chair, and pale hands pushed the hood back, revealing a gaunt face with paler skin stretched thin over fine bones. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced than seemed to be normal for the Brotherhood, but he at least didn't share the same jitters.

Without being told, he placed delicate fingers across Mulder's injured knee, making the agent wince.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, sounding tired. "Imagine yourself surrounded by blue."

"Blue what?"

"Just blue," he said.

Mulder shrugged and closed his eyes without comment.

Before anyone could rise from their seat to stop him, the man had pulled back and slammed both fists together against the side of Mulder's knee.

**

Mulder's profanities had become repetitious as he hobbled to the sidewalk in front of the compound.

"Look, Mulder, how were we supposed to know?"

The agent glared at Frohike. "As soon as I can move again, I'm going to kick your ass."

Frohike sighed and shifted the dead weight onto the other Gunmen. "Langly, you and Jimmy stay here with Mulder. I'll bring the van around."

The agent muttered something under his breath.

"Look, sorry, buddy, but I thought maybe we'd found our nocturnal visitors."

Byers colored slightly. "It seemed like a reasonable possibility."

"Oh, well, I'm relieved to know I've been maimed in the name of scientific inquiry."

**

A long, hot bath had finally shut Mulder up for the most part. Frohike peered in the doorway. "Is it safe for me to come in?"

Mulder heaved a sigh. "Possibly."

"I brought you something."

Mulder squinted through the steam. "It'd better be good."

"Double chocolate cherry cupcakes."

"You brought me cupcakes?"

Mel grinned. "Not just any cupcakes."

There was a silence. "Fro?"

"Yes?"

"You found Sugar Land, didn't you."

The Gunman laughed. "They've even got little dribbles of cream cheese on the tops. I got the party platter."

Mulder smirked. "Enough to share."

"Just don't offer any to Langly."

Mulder laughed and stretched. "It actually doesn't seem to hurt as much anymore."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Weird."

Frohike tossed him a towel. "Well, they did say you'd need to be at your best tonight."

"Aren't I always?"

The phone rang in the next room and someone knocked at the adjoining door.

Mulder grinned. "If that's the kid, tell him we've got… finger food. Tell him to bring napkins."

**

Frohike sighed, scanning the instruments. "Mulder, what the hell are we doing out here?"

Mulder shrugged. "Hell if I know, Frohike. You're the one who's convinced Sela's a legitimate psychic. I still think they're orchestrating all of this."

"Well, if they're putting on a show, we might as well watch."

Mulder grumbled under his breath.

"At least we got the van. That barn looks like it's got bats."

Mulder grinned lazily. "You didn't mind the bats in Indiana."

"Fight it down, Mulder."

"So what do you suppose they're doing out here, anyway?"

"Transgenic, maybe. Experimental strain, I suppose. But that's a pretty big buffer they've got around this field, so I'd put my money on transgenic."

The door slid open quietly. "Still nothing," J. Wayne said, crawling in. "A couple of cars went past the lane from the west but didn't stop. I spotted Jimmy, though, sneaking around the outside of the fence."

"No surprise there. He doesn't know the meaning of the word stealth."

Mulder laughed quietly. "Still, if you gotta spend a night watching a cornfield in the middle of nowhere, at least it's a nice night for it."

"Check in with the boys, will you? Get them to bring Jimmy back in so he doesn't scare our friends off."

Mulder nodded and picked up the headset for the two-way communications system. He fiddled with it for a while and then looked up. "Just static. You guys and your cheap equipment."

"It was working perfectly this morning, Mulder. You're not using it right."

"Look, I'm doing exactly what you showed me—"

J. Wayne moved over to help.

"Hang on," Mel said urgently. "I've got blobs on the thermal."

**

"Langly, wake up." Byers hissed.

The blond took a moment to orient himself. "What are we doing in a barn?"

"Roll in the hay. Take a look at that." He pointed as Langly groped for his glasses.

Langly unceremoniously shoved them up his nose and followed Byers' finger, doing a double take. "What the hell?"

Small lights were bobbing around the field below them. They seemed to define geometrics in the same way that stars define constellations. Langly grabbed for the night-vision goggles and focused. "Shit."

"Yeah," Byers agreed dispiritedly.

"Hoaxers," Langly said flatly.

Jimmy climbed up the ladder again. "There were a couple of cars, they pulled off down behind that pond. Some guys got out, with bags, and cut the padlock on that gate. I don't think they saw me."

Byers nodded, staring intently into the field. "We know, Jimmy. They divided into three groups and are making a triangle and two circles out there." He shook his head. "I tried to get the others, but the radio's not working right."

Langly pulled on a headset and held the button down to a burst of static. "Mulder probably screwed it up. How many guys, Jimmy?"

"It was kinda hard to tell in the dark. I think I counted ten. They were all dressed in black."

Langly and Byers exchanged looks. "You think?"

Byers shrugged. "I'm not sure what the point of it would be. Glyphs attract attention, stir up the press."

Langly sighed. "Well, I guess anybody making circles at night would wear black anyway. I mean, we are. At least it's not aliens."

Jimmy peered out from the loft. "So the whole thing's a hoax?"

Byers thought about it. "The circles are, obviously. But I honestly don't know how they could have hoaxed the oranges. There was no trace of any incendiary material."

Langly stood and stretched. "Let's go ask."

**

J. Wayne pulled the door open. "The guys just left the barn. Something's up."

Frohike nodded. "There's definitely something going on in the field."

"Something what?"

"I'm not sure. There's not really enough signature for humans, but I don't know what else it could be."

Mulder shrugged. "Raccoons?"

"Or aliens. Maybe our sharp-dressed friends aren't human after all."

Mulder looked thoughtful as he pulled on the headset again and checked another monitor. "No lights in the sky, though. Whatever's happening is at ground level."

"People, then. Maybe the scope's malfunctioning like the radio is. You're sure nobody came?"

J. Wayne shook his head. "If they pulled in past the pond, and walked through the woods, I wouldn't have seen them. We were expecting them to use that break in the fence, remember."

Mulder looked at Frohike and shrugged. "Still static. I think we'd better get out there."

Frohike was already grabbing gear. "J. Wayne, stay here, try to get the radio working. I'd like to know what's going on before we barge in."

"You circle around from the west, Mel. I'll try to come in on the other side." He took a deep breath. "Christ, I'm glad Scully isn't here for this. Another cornfield? She'd never forgive me."

Mel gave him a worried once-over. "Are you okay to do this?"

Mulder set his jaw. "Let's go."

**

They split up as they approached the clearing. Byers pushed quietly through the corn. He found himself on the edge of a large circle, with nearly a dozen people scattered around with boards on ropes. Two men were consulting a map with the help of a small penlight while a third called out numbers along a rope tied to a pole in the center of the clearing. One of them waved an arm toward the farthest triangle and looked up, straight at John.

He stared for a moment and then screamed "Abort!" The workers dropped their tools and scattered into the darkness.

"Wait!" he heard Langly yell in the distance. "Dammit!"

There was a scuffle to his left and then Jimmy shouted. "Got one!" He headed over.

Langly hurried up behind him, holding a map and a big silver tube. "They left this. It's a Pulsar red laser." He flashed it on and off. "That's good scattering. This is pretty organized for a hoax, you know?"

Jimmy held a man by the scruff of his collar. There were bits of leaf in his dark hair, his black face paint smeared and black tracksuit covered in dirt and pollen. He was wearing safety goggles with thick, streaky lenses.

"What hoax?" the man demanded in outrage.

They were slightly taken aback. "The circles here. Obviously you're making them."

"So?"

"Well, so…" Langly trailed off, looking helplessly at Byers.

"So why?" Byers asked. "Why go to all the trouble?"

"They make the circles to communicate with us," he said, as though that should have been clear to even the most deranged moron.

"But you're making this one."

"To communicate with them. To let them know we're listening."

Byers considered it. "Why do it like this? At night, in secret?"

"We don't own the field."

"Oh."

Langly cleared his throat. "So you've, uh, cracked their code? You know what they're saying?"

The man looked embarrassed. "Not yet, but we're working on it."

"Do you know what you're telling them?" Langly persisted.

"Not really. We just want them to know we're listening."

"So, for all you know, you could be creeping out here in the dead of night and ruining some scientist's experiment to make a giant billboard that says 'Good Eats'."

The man huffed. "I resent that. There's no reason to believe that they intend to invade us, let alone that they regard humans as livestock. An enlightened civilization like theirs would be vegetarian, naturally."

Byers sighed. "We'll leave you to it, then. Let him go, Jimmy."

They ran into Frohike in the narrow alley between the two triangles.

"What's going on?"

"It's just people."

He threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's a hoax?"

Byers shook his head and explained briefly. "It's a UFO cargo cult. I suppose it had to happen sooner or later."

Frohike groaned. "We might as well take off, then. Did you see Mulder?"

"No. He came out?"

"Yeah. He went around the other side. We'd better go find him."

"Knowing Mulder, he's probably lost."

"Did he take one of the headsets?"

"Yeah, but they weren't working."

Byers frowned. "I thought it was just ours."

"No. A few minutes before they turned up, we started getting static."

Langly stopped. "That's weird. You think there might be something else going on?"

"Maybe."

Byers looked thoughtful. "That laser was sophisticated equipment. Maybe they have a jammer, too."

Langly shook his head. "Why? They didn't expect to see us. Anyway, you'd think they'd find communications gear useful, too."

Byers frowned. "We should have held onto him, I guess."

"And that laser," Langly muttered.

"We're making a lot of dumb mistakes," Mel sighed. "I think we've been in this state too long. Langly, you and Jimmy get the gear from the barn. Byers, let's find Mulder." He turned and headed off. "We need to get the hell out of here before someone calls the cops."

Frohike grinned as he pushed a stand of corn aside. "Gotta admit, I'd hate to be the guy carrying that laser when they show up."

"I'm not sure the NVG are going to be any easier to explain."

Frohike stopped abruptly. "Did you leave the panic box in the van?"

Byers managed not to plow into him. "I haven't touched—" He swallowed. "Oh, God. We'd better find Mulder fast."

Frohike nodded grimly and charged off, only to slam into a small woman in a green pith helmet.

They went down in a tangle of limbs, and the woman started screaming and beating him with her fists.

"Get her off me!"

Byers reached down and pulled her to the side, causing her to start hitting him instead. Frohike sat up and threw his arms around her.

"Cut it out!"

She managed to twist around and screamed in his ear. "Monster!"

"Lady, enough!" Frohike roared.

She yanked herself free and scrabbled on the ground for her flashlight. She flicked on an odd blue beam.

Frohike flinched away from it, and she let it linger for a moment before it danced on to Byers. "Who the hell are you?"

Frohike straightened his glasses. "The people you just assaulted. Who the hell are you?"

Byers brushed the earth off his sweater. "Well, if the cops hadn't been called before, they're on their way now. Perhaps we could continue this discussion somewhere else?"

"I guess there's no point in stealth now." Frohike opened his mouth to yell for Mulder and shut it again with a snap. "We should have come up with code names."

"Try yelling 'Fox'. They'll think it's someone in the woods."

"He'd kill me." He grabbed the woman by the arm and started off again toward the van. "You're coming with us, miss. I wanna know what's going on."

There was a rustle behind them, and another woman flung herself on top of Byers, knocking him down. "Let go of her, you freaks!"

The first woman helped Mel pry her off. "Stop it! They're human!"

Byers sat up, blinking, as two more women, in green helmets and face paint and matching baggy pants and tunics, emerged from the corn with blue lights. "Who are you people?"

"Look," Frohike said loudly. "If you ladies want to hang around and wait for the cops, fine. But we're getting out of here!"

He pulled Byers to his feet and headed off again. "There's a flashlight over there. It might be Mulder."

"BYYYYYERS! Where are ya!"

"Jimmy," they said together.

Frohike hurried forward. "Shut up, dummy. You want to get us arrested?"

"Where's Langly?"

Jimmy looked around. "He was right behind me. He must have gotten lost."

"What about Mulder?"

"What about him?"

"You haven't seen him?"

Jimmy looked confused. "He was with you, right?"

"And Langly was with you," Mel snarled. "Forget the code names. Next time I'm pinning homing devices on everyone."

"We don't have time for this," Byers warned. "Jimmy, get back to the van. See if Langly or Mulder are there. If they are, honk the horn a few times. Okay?"

Jimmy nodded. "What if only one of them's there?"

"Honk anyhow," Frohike instructed. "At least it'll help 'em find it."

"Okay." He disappeared into the rows.

"What if they're not there, Mel?"

Another blue light hit them. "Over there! Get them!"

Frohike looked panicked. "Run!"

They both took off, unfortunately in different directions. Byers moved directly through the corn, knowing it left a trail but hoping it'd keep him from being spotted in a row. A couple of times he caught glimpses of bodies in dark clothes, but none were tall enough to be Langly or Mulder.

Frohike pelted along a row, breaking into a clearing where several of the women in the helmets were holding onto three of the circle makers.

"It's another one!"

"Oh, no," he moaned, and took off in the opposite direction, hearing them give chase. He glanced back and promptly tripped over part of a tripod, sending him sprawling.

"Mel?" someone said in disbelief.

**

Langly had almost been tackled by some crazy chick who came out of nowhere, and had gotten turned around. He figured he was so lost by now the only thing that would help was his compass. He flipped on his flashlight to read it.

"Langly?" someone said in disbelief.

**

Byers was sure he was near the van, but he'd have to move into a row to see. He slipped through, trying to be quiet. Something caught his arm. "John Byers?" someone said in disbelief.

**

Mulder was wondering if moss grew on the north sides of corn stalks, when there was a rustle behind him.

"Agent Mulder?" someone said in disbelief.

**

J. Wayne leaned on the horn.

"They said only do that if Langly or Mulder was here," Jimmy protested.

"Hopefully they'll all hear it and come this way. Is the radio working yet?"

"Still static, but I might be doing it wrong."

J. Wayne moved back to help, and the door slid open.

"Jimmy?" someone said in disbelief.

And then there were lights in the sky.

**

"So you five were just out here minding your own business."

Frohike sighed, ignoring the plastic restraints cutting into his wrists. "Look, we're reporters. We got a tip, and we came out."

"A tip about what?"

"I don't suppose you're going to like this," said Ian Drose. "But we heard a group was going to be making a crop circle here." He and the other members of The Smoking Gun had been startled to see Frohike stumble out of the corn, but there hadn't been time for a reunion. A helicopter fixed them with a searchlight and within moments they were rounded up by a team of exasperated police.

The man gave him the hairy eyeball. "A crop circle."

The Smoking Gun's resident crop circle expert, Masashi Katahira, elaborated. "It's a type of formation usually—"

The man cut him off. "I know what a crop circle is. What I don't know is if you people expect me to believe this garbage."

Nick Trebaczewski, the youngest member of the team, shifted nervously. "Your helicopter should be able to spot some of them from the air."

The man glared. "Oh, believe me, we've got it out there looking. And you're telling me that it's not going to spot, for example, any patches of contraband plants that just happen to somehow be out there?"

"Certainly not," Drose said indignantly. "We're reporters. We do not use controlled substances."

Marvel snorted quietly, earning fresh scrutiny.

"So why exactly didn't you bother to get permission from the university to set up cameras here? They might not like reporters in their experimental fields."

Before they could respond, four more people were herded into the headlights of the police cars. "Found them over on the south edge," said a grimy and sweat-streaked uniform.

Mel winced. Two of the new guys had planks strung around their necks with ropes, and the other two were members of the press, specifically an Arkansas outfit called Flap.

"Who are they?" asked their irritated keeper.

"No ID."

He glared at the newcomers too. "I suppose you're reporters, too."

Steve Helder nodded. "Exactly, officer."

"Captain."

"Sorry, Captain."

"Are we going to find anyone else out there?"

Frohike sighed. "There are other members of our team working in the field, yes."

"But nowhere near these plots of illicit plants which we're of course not going to find," the captain said sarcastically.

One of the circle makers looked blank. "There's nothing out there but corn."

"And reporters," one of the officers said, rubbing at the grime on his face.

The captain turned to a uniform. "Put them in the wagon and read them their rights. We'll hold them on trespassing until we get some straight answers."

"These two were parked in a van out that way," interrupted a new uniformed officer, pushing Jimmy and J. Wayne before her. "There's all kind of weird stuff in there."

"Grow-op?" The captain asked.

"No… It looks more like science equipment. Radio stuff, maybe."

"IDs?"

"No, but they could be somewhere in the vehicle."

A commotion at the edge of the lights, and seven more people were pushed into view, half of them women in helmets.

Langly tried a feeble wave with his bound hands. "These guys think we're harvesting pot!" he announced angrily.

Marvel almost giggled, and Drose elbowed him, as another five people joined the group.

Byers sighed faintly and went to stand beside Langly as the newest policeman dropped the laser next to the other equipment.

"These two were fighting over this," he said, pointing to the woman who had called Mel a monster, and the apparent leader of the circle makers. "And we ran into them on the way here," he added, gesturing at Byers and Larch Redlund.

The captain nudged it with his foot. "What is this, some kind of weapon? You people are all in big trouble."

"It's not a weapon," the man said. "It's a laser. It helps us make straight lines."

The woman had joined her friends. "Terrorists!"

Things went downhill from there.

**

"So," the captain announced to the room in general. "We have twenty-one assorted journalists, eleven guys with lasers and wooden planks, seventeen ninja women, and two kids who probably had nothing to do with this but just picked the wrong place to neck." He sighed. "Not to mention two vans, a couple of SUVs, and three cars, two of them rented. And a pile of weird equipment."

His lieutenant nodded. "And as far as we can tell, no pot plants, but a couple of big triangles and part of a circle smashed down in the middle of an experimental cornfield."

The captain massaged his temples. "Has anyone from the university gotten back to us yet?"

"No. We left messages everywhere, I guess they'll call when they get in in the morning. It's Sunday, after all. But as far as we can tell, none of these folks are employed by them in any capacity."

"What about the lady who was yelling about terrorism? She seemed pretty upset about the damage. Do we have some weird experiment and a bunch of ecoterrorists or something?"

The officer who had taken her statement rolled his eyes. "She's nuts, Captain. She says the guys with the boards and lasers are, uh, space aliens, like giant bugs, in the bodies of humans, who make these corn circle things to signal the mothership. She says you can tell by shining those weird blue flashlights on 'em."

There was a long silence. "You got drug tests?"

"Yeah. All of them came up clean for most everything. We had some alcohol, but none pegged the breathalyzer." He shrugged. "But all of those folks are so freaky it wouldn't surprise me if they were all on some drug that we just don't test for."

Someone snickered. "And we're sure the circle guys aren't alien bugs?"

The captain glared. "Okay, so the lasers. This definitely isn't about terrorism? I'm getting calls already."

The lieutenant shook his head. "One of the tech guys downstairs looked at them and says they're probably harmless. You could probably use them to bring down a small plane if you tried hard enough, but there aren't any flight patterns near that field. He says they're good for astronomy, and that's about it."

"What's he think about their story?"

The lieutenant shrugged. "He says it'd be pretty easy to use them for making crop circles, assuming you're that kind of crazy."

"Have the journalists checked out with their organizations?"

An officer rolled her eyes. "About half of them. The four from," she sighed, "The Smoking Gun, the two from Washington Watches, that's not a newspaper, it's just some weird UFO outfit, and the three from Fortean Times, which is some kind of magazine."

"And the tip we got?"

"The call came from a pay phone in the lobby of a Best Western hotel. You want us to follow up?"

He regarded them all for a long, silent moment. "You know what I want? I want to know what the hell is going on here!" The last few words came out with some volume.

The door opened. "I think I can answer that," Mulder said casually, stepping into the room and showing his credentials. "FBI."

**

Josh Rosenberg shook his head. "Still nothing."

Chuck Allen sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I still don't know why we're out here. That woman is crazy."

Pete Dodden sighed from the back seat. "Yeah, the thing with the Cube was kind of a tip off."

"So why are we here again?" Allen asked for the fifth time.

Rosenberg shrugged. "Well, aside from those crap pictures, the only way into this is following the other guys around."

"Gunman is onto something, we all know it. Following them is our best bet."

Rosenberg grimaced. "It may come to that, but I'd like to avoid it, really. They play dirty."

Allen snickered. "So does Mulder."

They grinned at each other. "Do you suppose he knows Len's in town yet?"

Dodden looked uncomfortable. "I didn't like the way he laughed when you told him Mulder was here."

Allen snickered again. "Just having a little fun. Mulder and Tasche deserve some quality time together."

Rosenberg leaned closer to the windshield. "What the hell?"

Allen snapped his fingers at Dodden. "Camera."

Dodden was staring intently at two glowing orange balls in the night sky hovering just above the hill they'd been watching.

Rosenberg gasped as trails of fire began to fall from each object. "They're going to crash!"

"Camera," Allen said impatiently.

Dodden sighed. "Don't bother."

"Pete, give me the camera right now!"

Rosenberg half-turned in his seat so he could see both of them and still keep an eye on the balls, now starting to sink. "Okay, Pete. What are they?"

"Garbage bags."

"What?" Allen hit the roof, literally.

"I know it looks creepy, but it's a hoax, believe me. You take a big plastic garbage bag, lightweight, preferably white, and you tape a candle inside it. You light the candle, and hold the bottom of the bag up until it starts to fill with hot air. Then you let go. It's like a balloon. When the candle melts the bag, it starts to catch on fire, and you get dripping streams of burning plastic. That's what causes that 'fuel trail' effect. The plastic burns as it falls. It looks good, really good. Presto, instant UFO."

Allen shook his head. "Man. I thought we were onto something this time."

Rosenberg sighed faintly. "You take a lot of the fun out of this, Pete."

Dodden shrugged. "Sorry. They're just garbage bags."

Rosenberg put the keys in the ignition. "Let's call it a night."

**

"Those people were nuts," Mel grumbled in the impound lot.

"No argument there," Marvel snickered.

Drose sighed and leaned against the fence while the officer on duty found their paperwork. "My thanks for a timely rescue, Agent Mulder. Though I'm aware we're merely collateral saves. I imagine the same thing happened to us as happened to you. The Brotherhood of Pragmatic Resistance gave you a tip?"

The assorted journalists and UFOlogists nodded.

"I'm gonna get that woman," Langly snarled.

Redlund looked up. "Loy?"

Byers nodded tiredly.

Steve Helder and Letisha LaSalle of Flap exchanged glances. "We got tipped by a Brother Sweet Gum."

The rest of the professionals nodded.

"He got a hundred bucks out of us," added Darcy Patterson.

Her partner Bets stuck out her tongue. "You can't trust men."

Mulder grinned. "And after I rescued you and everything."

"How'd you get here, anyhow?" Frohike asked, signing for the keys. "They impounded everybody's cars."

Mulder grimaced. "Not everybody's," he said quietly. "I hitched a ride with Celestiya Cayce. They snagged Julian out in the field, but missed her and the Jeep."

Frohike glanced up and tried not to smirk at the expression on Mulder's face. Mulder had years ago made plain his aversion to spending time alone with "that Cayce woman", and it hadn't been a short ride to the precinct from the field. Mel had a feeling he was going to get an earful later. Mulder was starting to limp slightly again, he noticed. Everybody needed sleep, obviously, though he honestly wasn't sure how easily anybody would after last night.

He sighed and tossed the keys to Byers and moved out of the way so Bets could hand over her paperwork. "Let's go home."

Bets hip-checked him, giggling. "Is that an open invitation?"

Mulder slipped an arm around her waist, grinning. "Sure. We've got… cupcakes."

Frohike snorted. "Not her style. C'mon, let's get out of here before the cops turn the freaks loose."

Ellis laughed. "The rest of them, anyway."

**

*Next Up: Caffeine, Conspiracies, and the Fortean Nature of Fishes XII: Up the Data Stream Without a Paddle: In which the guys guard an unlikely abduction target, which leads to a lot of trouble and a visit to the vet. Meanwhile, Bigfoot is spotted. Again.*

Harpy hdsidhe@gmail.com Handmaiden of the Goddess of Irony

Back to the Black Mailbox Stories.

Back to Stories Index