"Ah, this brings back memories," Al said. "Life on a carrier. Cramped quarters. Bad food. No women. But really fast planes."
Sam was glad Al had decided to show up. Al had been able to brief him about the man whose identity he'd assumed—a Navy pilot turned JAG lawyer—someone Al had actually known, in fact. And having Al over his shoulder would help Sam stay in character—to help him act like a pilot on a carrier. That was the tough part. Sam felt pretty sure he could handle passing as a lawyer. He had before, in fact. If his swiss-cheesed memory served.
But this FBI agent—this Mulder—made Sam a little nervous. Al said that Mulder had earned the nickname "Spooky"—and not for his counterintelligence expertise. And even though Mulder and his partner were here in their capacity as anti-terrorist investigators, they were both more regularly assigned to something called the X-files—investigations into the unexplained.
That, in itself, made Sam a little nervous, considering that his own situation could fall into that category. More than that, though—there was something a little off between Mulder and his partner. There was something Sam couldn't quite put his finger on.
They arrived at the brig. Lieutenant Richards—a round-faced kid with close-cropped tight blonde curls, snapped to attention and saluted Sam.
Sam returned the Salute. "As you were, Lieutenant," he said.
Richards sat down. "So, is it true, Sir, that you voluntarily chose to fly a desk instead of an F-14?"
Sam paused. "Well… It's not quite as straight-forward as all that."
Richards smiled. "Yeah, that's what I'd thought—that's what I'd heard."
"What had you heard?" Mulder asked.
Sam nodded at Mulder. "Lieutenant Adam Richards, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI Anti-Terrorism Squad. He's assisting me in this investigation."
Richards nodded at Mulder.
"What had you heard?" Mulder asked again.
"Oh, nothing much," Richards replied. "Just that there was this story about a re-tread pilot on the Patrick Henry who won a Flying Cross, and was then put out to pasture. Our CAG said it was voluntary—but no one I knew bought that. Why would a pilot that good—even a dinosaur—give up flying voluntarily?"
"Well, I appreciate that, Lieutenant," Sam said. "I think."
"Lieutenant Richards," Mulder said. "Can you tell us why you ran into the reactor room?"
"No," Richards said, looking bewildered. "I can't. I can't actually remember doing it, sir," he said, looking at Sam. "Last thing I remembered was calling the ball on my last trap. Then I was in custody, and they told me it was three days later. At first I figured I fowled my landing—not that it was a great landing, but it wasn't bad enough to land me in the brig."
"And you remember nothing, for three days?" Sam asked.
"That's right, sir."
"You blacked out?" Mulder asked.
Richards shrugged. "I guess so."
"Do you remember any dreams?" Mulder asked.
"Sir?" Richards replied, looking confused.
"You know, Lieutenant," Mulder said. "Any images—sounds—sensations—you might recall. Even if they don't seem to make sense. Or was it just black?"
"You know, now that you mention it," Richards said, "I do have this image of being someplace surrounded by a bright blue. And looking at my reflection—but it wasn't my reflection. Must have been a dream."
Al was staring at Richards while he was describing his "dream"—his jaw inching toward the ground. Al tapped at his handlink. And then he hit it gently. Then he slapped it. And then he slapped it hard.
"Sam, this isn't good," he said. "He's describing the waiting room—which he shouldn't remember, even he'd leaped. But according to Ziggy, he hadn't."
Mulder looked like a teenager who'd been given the keys to his first car. "Well, I think I'm done here for now," he said. "Commander?"
Sam looked at Mulder, than at Richards, Back at Mulder, than over at Al.
Al stared back at him with an expression of bewildered terror unlike anything Sam had seen before. "Sam, we need to go somewhere where we can talk," he said.
Sam nodded.
They left the brig, and headed back toward the mess. Al had apparently left the imaging chamber to confer directly with Ziggy and the rest of the Project staff.
"You look pretty pleased with yourself, Agent Mulder," Sam said. "Considering that we got nothing meaningful out of our suspect."
"We did learn something useful here, Commander," Mulder said. "We have evidence that the U.S. government was trying to sink one of its own aircraft carriers."
Sam stopped walking. "Excuse me—but what?"
"There are secret, black ops projects—some of which deal with body substitution—an agent can flash into an innocent bystander and switch places with him or her. That agent can then carry out its mission, and switch back. The innocent bystander—Lieutenant Richards in this case—would have no memory of this ever happening."
"That doesn't follow," Sam said. "Even if you accept—for the sake of argument—that such projects existed—which I'm not—it does not follow that their motives would be corrupt."
"What other motives could there be?" Mulder asked.
Sam paused. "I don't know."
Sam heard the imaging chamber door open, and Al reappeared. "Sam, we need to talk—privately," he said.
"Agent Mulder, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the head," Sam said.
"By all means, Commander. We'll wait for you in the mess."
Al was waiting for him in the officer's head.
"We may have a problem," he said.
"You mean, other than the fact that my partner on this investigation is aware of the Project?" Sam asked.
"Oh, that's nothing," Al replied. "Mulder's mostly harmless. Even if he stumbled onto the Project—no one would believe him anyway.
"The problem is—Ziggy's gone over the data. She thinks that, at some point in the future—and we don't know when—that you're going to leap into Lieutenant Richards."
"And that's how he—I know—how to fix the reactor."
"Nuclear physics is one of your doctorates," Al said. "But what Ziggy doesn't know is why you'd leap in now, before the other leap."
"That must be related to why I'm here in the first place," Sam speculated. "Maybe there's something I have to do here, now, to set up the other leap."
Al tapped at the handlink. "Well, given how ambiguous a statement that is, Ziggy gives that one an 80% chance."
"The key question is what," Sam wondered. "Suppose there was a real saboteur—an actual terrorist. Knowing who that was and what they'd done would be essential to saving the ship. So what I have to do is find the terrorist, and find out what he or she is planning to do, and when. Which will also clear Lieutenant Richards."
Al peered at the handlink. "Ziggy gives that one 40%," he said.
"40%?" Sam asked. "What else does she think I'm here to do?"
"She thinks—65%--that the leap
has something to do with our friends from the FBI."